


Four Walls (I don't stand a chance)

by kitty_shcherbatskaya



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Organized Crime, everyone is extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_shcherbatskaya/pseuds/kitty_shcherbatskaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla Karnstein has one job... to assassinate mouthy journalist Laura Hollis. She can't screw that up, can she?</p><p>Something between Erin Brockovich and the Bourne Identity. Featuring corporate cover-ups. Bare-knuckle fist fights. Car chases. Sexual tension. And a Carmilla who just wants her bike back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's got horns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> story title: from Home - Daughter
> 
> chapter title: Horns - Bryce Fox

The stars were out. 

Carmilla Karnstein, getting off the late night bus, pushed her hood down and savoured the sight above her for a few precious seconds. She could just about pick out the familiar constellations which graced the sky, sparkling determinedly through the streetlights and smog - Cassiopeia, Aquila, Orion. The lines she’d traced so many times before were a welcome moment of reflection, of clarity. Then, she pulled her hood back up and brought herself back to earth - to the outskirts of Vienna and the distant police sirens drifting through the summer air. 

She had eighty thousand euro to earn tonight. 

Carmilla reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notebook. She flicked to a page with the corner folded over, comparing what she found there to the street sign on the tall, old rows of apartments opposite her. With a nod, she took in the printed picture she’d attached to the next page with a paperclip, peering at the washed-out colours under the yellow glow of the streetlights. 

Laura Hollis looked young, and bright, and altogether too innocent to have a price on her head. But money was money, and eighty thousand euro wasn’t going to just fall into her lap. On the bright side, she looked fairly incapable of putting up any kind of meaningful resistance. If she was even up at 3 in the morning on a Monday.

With clinical detachment, Carmilla tore the pages from her notebook. She pulled out her lighter and, with a flick of metal, they were aflame. She crushed the last ashy fragments under her boot, and walked with confidence between the tenement buildings. Halfway down the street, she slipped through to the back, finding herself in the yard of 34. Laura Hollis was on the third floor. There had been no lights on in the front - and the back was the same. Perfect. 

Rolling aside a bike abandoned carelessly across the back door, Carmilla found the key she’d had made yesterday. With satisfaction, she unlocked the heavy door and slipped inside soundlessly. These buildings were old, at least eighty years old, and there was no lift. Only one way up, and that was the staircase. Hopefully it wouldn’t creak. 

Carmilla took the stairs unhurriedly, sticking close to the walls where they would be more supported, and counted her way up under her breath. Eighty steps later, just as her patience was stretching thin, she made it outside the plain, unmarked door. The previous owner’s name was still on a sticky label below the doorbell. Carmilla brought out a set of lockpicks from their place in her sleeve and put them to work. 

The lock wasn’t a complicated one, and it took her less than a quarter of an hour to hear the satisfying  _ plunk _ of the final tumbler falling into place. But the door didn’t open. She peered into the tiny gap between door and doorjamb, and saw the telltale flash of a deadbolt between the two. Typical. Carmilla fished out the old ID card she used for this kind of job, and slid it into the gap. It bent slightly as she forced it up against the bolt - with a flash of consternation she waited for the snap - but it held, and the deadbolt gave, sliding back into the door. Carmilla paused for a moment to appreciate her handiwork. No one else was going to, after all. 

Slowly, she opened the door and slipped into the silent apartment. 

She’d studied the floorplan for this building - the bedroom was the last door on the right, with a bathroom opposite. No lights were on; Carmilla’s eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, and to her right was a bowl, keys dropped in. A pair of converse had been discarded on the floor mat. Laura Hollis must be in, and she must be sleeping.

She wouldn’t find an easier job.

Carmilla couldn’t help but pat the pocket on her chest, where the cyanide pills were. This could be the easiest eighty thousand she’d ever made.

The bedroom door opened with a slight scrape of wood on wood. Carmilla didn’t let it worry her; she approached the form shrouded in sheets - it was a little warm for so many, surely - and peeled the topmost carefully away from what must be the sleeping face of Laura Hollis.

She was faced instead with a large couch cushion.

Carmilla’s stomach dropped. She span from the bed, and suddenly there were footsteps, bright light in her eyes, blinding her, and a woman’s voice, loud in the silence, speaking English. 

_ “Don’t move! I’m armed, and I will shoot!” _

She staggered back, her senses screaming danger, and the goddamned light didn’t go away. But instinctively, she lifted her arms above her head, closed her eyes tight, and after a second, she cracked an eyelid open.

“Who are you?” demanded the voice. The woman - Laura Hollis, she assumed - was clutching a torch in one hand, shining it belligerently in her face, whilst the other pointed a handgun unwaveringly at her chest. Carmilla felt her palms start to sweat. 

“Get that torch out of my face, and I’ll tell you,” she managed, mind racing for a way out of the situation. The only door was blocked. Behind her was a window offering a jump of rather uninviting height. Not much for it, then.

Her captor shut off the torch, plunging them both into darkness, but had a hand to the light switch in record time. Carmilla blinked again at the harsh white light. 

“Are you here to kill me?” Laura Hollis had both hands wrapped around the gun now, and her eyes were serious. And big, and brown, and Carmilla realised that the picture hadn’t done her justice. She’d never had to kill a girl so pretty before.

“No, I’m the early hours room service,” she bit out on instinct, “what do you think?”

“Oh.” That hadn’t made the impact that Carmilla hoped it would. Laura studied her over her gun, which in the light was she could tell was clearly a real one. Unfortunate. “You know, the previous three attempts on my life were a bit more … well thought out.”

_ What does she mean, the last three attempts? _   “What do you mean, well thought out?” was what came out of her mouth.

Laura raised her eyebrows. “You tried to get me in the middle of the night, by picking a lock, three days after I move into my new apartment because the last one was completely trashed by people trying to shoot me. I mean… you don’t even have a gun.”

“Just because I have a little more subtlety than some other muscle bound idiot who thinks a Heckler and Koch is the answer to his problems doesn’t mean I’m bad at my job,” Carmilla pointed out with irritation. “I have a bit more imagination than that, you know. Can I put my fucking hands down yet?”  

Laura just gave her a look of incredulity. It was surprisingly attractive. Carmilla sighed, because this was getting more complicated by the minute. 

“If you want to get out of here alive, you’re gonna have to answer my questions. Who sent you to kill me?”

“My boss,” Carmilla supplied unhelpfully. She saw the little furrow appear on Laura’s brow.

“And who is your boss?”

“Someone who arranges contract killings.”

“Do you  _ want  _ me to shoot you in the foot?”

“That gun has no suppressor. You’d wake up this whole street,” Carmilla reminded her. She didn’t look like the type to have done this much before.

“Yeah,” she snapped back, “but you’re a home invader. Pretty sure you’d have no leg to stand on. Especially after I’ve blown it up.” Laura lined up the gun with Carmilla’s left knee. 

“That's not funny. Besides the safety’s on.”

Click.  _ Why did she just point that out? _

“You’re terrible at your job.”

“I thought you’d be happier about that.”

“Are you going to answer me or not?” 

Carmilla sighed. Her arms were starting to ache. “I was hired to kill you by my boss, who accepts contracts from various other people who engage her services. I don’t know why and I don’t particularly care either. So believe me, cutie,” she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over Laura’s tight tank top and sleep shorts, “it’s nothing personal.”

Laura stared at her for a second, jaw working adorably. “How much was I worth to you?”

“Eighty thousand euro, so you should be flattered.”

“Only eighty thousand?” Laura demanded incredulously. “That’s unbelievable!”

“Hey, it’s three or four times what I’d usually make for a single hit,” Carmilla pointed out defensively, “especially for someone so tiny and frail.”

“I swear to God, I will shoot you,” Laura snapped. Carmilla felt herself smirk in response. “So you don’t know why you’re meant to be killing me?”

“Aside from the massive paycheck?”

“Answer the question.”

“Feisty, aren’t we?” Carmilla flashed Laura a wink and was amused at the angry flush spreading over the other woman’s cheeks. “Let’s see, Laura Hollis, 26 years old, you’re a prodigy of North American journalism, having just published a razor sharp exposé on the sex trafficking industry’s connections to major financial corporations in Canada and the US. You’re here now to take a break from journalism, explore Europe and, I assume, find your next juicy scoop,” Carmilla reeled off, seeing the online articles swimming before her mind's eye. “Guess you stepped on someone’s toes a little too much, sweetheart.”

“But you’re not connected to them?” Laura’s expression was inscrutable.

Carmilla shrugged as best she could, considering her elbows were level with her ears. “I’m not. I’m guessing my boss isn’t either, or else this job wouldn’t be so expensive. I should have guessed you’d be tricky.” Laura looked flattered; she rolled her eyes. “How did you know I was coming anyway?”

“The bike across the doorway is mine,” Laura explained carefully, “I put one of those little surveillance cameras on it and set it up with an alarm to my phone. It woke me up when it spotted you.”

“Smart, Hollis,” Carmilla murmured. She still wasn’t seeing a way out of here. Although Laura was surprisingly chatty for someone staring her down. Most people were less coherent in her position; but then they tended to be at Carmilla’s mercy, not the other way around.

“For a hitman I thought you’d be...taller,” Laura said suddenly. Some of the tension had left her voice, and Carmilla refocused. Her window would be soon; she had a hunch.

“It’s not about size, you know… it’s what you do with it,” she let her voice drop a register and she saw Laura’s throat working to take a breath. The movement was distracting. 

“Oh yeah? And what do you normally do with it?” Laura managed. Smoothly, Carmilla moved a little closer.

“Nothing a beautiful girl wouldn’t want me to do, believe me,” she purred, loosening her arms further and rolling on the balls of her feet. 

Laura blinked; her tongue darted out to lick at her lips. Her hands dropped a little. 

Carmilla  _ moved _ . Launching herself on her tensed legs, she closed the distance between them. Letting the cry of shock wash over her head, she knocked the gun out of her way and put the other woman on the ground with a well-practiced armlock. Metal clattered against the laminate and Carmilla swung a leg over Laura’s hips, locking her in place and holding her right arm at an unnatural angle against the floor. 

For a second they both just breathed, heavily, and Carmilla found herself frozen. She knew that all that was needed was a strong hand around Laura’s throat; maybe the other to cover her mouth and nose. But Laura’s eyes were suddenly wide and unguarded with fear, her mouth slack and shocked, and she looked both divinely beautiful and terribly young. Her breath mingled with Carmilla’s as the latter filled the space between their bodies. There was a tiny freckle on her nose.

“If you’re gonna kill me, then do it,” she breathed, and Carmilla heard the break in that voice. She’d been here before. Familiar eyes glazing before her, the life leaving a body she’d once trusted. She felt sick. The terror in Laura’s eyes repulsed her when it should have excited her.

She didn't do it like this. Her hand came down, but instead of tightening around that delicate throat, it touched along a strong soft jaw.

With sudden violence Laura rocked up; Carmilla was aware of a strong body over hers, her gravity shifting - and Laura was on top of her, the god damned gun pointed directly at her face. Her thoughts fled.  Laura settled over her, and she felt the strength in her thighs - this journalist was stronger than she’d thought, maybe as strong as her - and she waited it out. 

“Isn’t this where I ask you to kill me instead?” Carmilla managed.

Laura rocked back on her heels slightly. Carmilla felt the shifting of weight, right over her core, and managed to suppress a shiver. “Would you like me to?”

“Not really. I don’t particularly want to die for this job.” Carmilla had lost her filter entirely, the panic pressing behind her eyes and in her throat, “I don’t even like my boss.”

“But I mean this was, like, pretty poor tonight.” Laura pointed out. Her voice was a little softer now she’d gained the upper hand. There was something intimate about it, and Carmilla felt sort of as though she’d stumbled into a bizarre dream.

“Not my best, I’ll admit,” Carmilla managed. Her fear and her arousal were mingling together with her adrenaline. It was a heady combination. 

“You’re normally better than this though?” Laura’s free hand was unexpectedly running down her body and she slipped it into Carmilla’s pockets, looking for something.

“A lot,” she couldn’t help but sound a little strangled, “I’m one of the best on the continent -” the hand slipped into her jacket and brushed her chest, “-I guarantee you that.”

Triumphantly, Laura pulled out Carmilla’s phone from her inside pocket, leaving a trail of fire across her ribs. She slid her thumb across the screen, huffing at the passcode entry. “Passcode?” she asked.

“23-10,” Carmilla answered. At Laura’s inquisitive look, she continued, “it’s my birthday.”

Laura looked through her phone for a second, lips moving as she fiddled with whatever she found on there. Carmilla was barely allowing herself to breathe. Then, more calmly than she would have believed, Laura slid the phone back into her inside pocket. She left her hand there, though, and lowered her mouth to Carmilla’s ear. “I could use someone like you. Call me if you need to disappear.” she breathed against the delicate skin, and Carmilla couldn’t help but shiver slightly. Leaving the assassin stunned on the floor, Laura stood and backed off, the gun pointed at her the whole time.  “But if you’re not gonna kill me, you should probably get out of my apartment.”

Carmilla scrambled up, feeling as though the ground had dropped out from under her, and stared at Laura. “You’re letting me go?”

“You didn’t want to kill tonight - that makes two of us,” Laura shrugged. 

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Carmilla backed off to the door and out into the dark corridor behind. Laura’s voice called her back. “Wait!”

She paused at the door, unable to see if the gun was still pointed in her direction. 

Laura continued. “What’s your name?”

Such a simple question. She turned it over in her head, hesitant, uncertain. So many answers, so many lies. 

“Carmilla,” she found herself replying. “You can call me Carmilla, sweetheart.” 

With that she was out of the door and halfway to the ground floor before she could think. The stairs rattled, this time, beneath her boots, and as relief and confusion and fear welled in her throat, Carmilla fought the strange urge to cry. She burst out of the back door and almost tripped over Laura’s bike, still in the way. Without thinking twice, she jumped up on it and cycled out of there, hard, feeling the wind whip at her face. The sun would be coming up soon. It would take her a half hour or so to get home. Then she could work out what she was going to do next. 

  
She stayed like that, barely noticing the few other cars out on the road, deaf to the horns that sounded as she cycled through red lights and veered in front of intersections. She wasn’t meant to have fouled this up. She couldn’t afford to have fouled this up. 

Her work phone vibrated from her bra.  _ “Verdammte scheiße!” _ she snarled, cycling one handed as she fished it out.

_ Is it done? _

She pedalled harder. Another buzz.

_ Send photo proof please _

"Go fuck yourself," she muttered.

Home. Carmilla threw the bike to the pavement and quickly headed for the safety of her block. Inside the first floor apartment, she pulled off her jacket, and threw the damn phone on the kitchen table. 

_ Mircalla. _

Every time she went to type something, her mind went blank. Carmilla went instead to her freezer, pulled out the vodka bottle and single shot glass she kept in there. She noticed, as she poured a large measure, that her hands were shaking, and she gulped down the icy, burning spirit with an involuntary gasp. 

_ You’re out of time.  _

The phone rang abruptly. Carmilla took another shot before she answered. 

“Lilita?” she managed.

“Mircalla. My glittering girl. Why is Laura Hollis not asphyxiated, poisoned, or otherwise terminated in her apartment yet?” the voice on the other end purred.

“There were - complications. She was prepared. Armed. I didn’t anticipate that -” 

“What a disappointment you’re turning out to be,  _ Maüschen _ .” Carmilla felt the alcohol twist in her stomach. “You really are determined to use up all your chances with us, aren’t you?” Before Carmilla could answer, Lilita continued, “if this girl is not dead by the time I get my morning newspaper, you know what will happen.”

Carmilla nodded, before remembering Lilita Morgan couldn’t see her. Probably. “I understand, Lilita.”

“I hope for your sake that’s true.” With a click, the line went dead. 

She dropped the phone back on the table and wandered through to her bedroom in a trance. Carmilla dragged her drawers away from the wall to reveal what was hidden behind - a slender metal safe, embedded into the back of the wood. Inside, her supplies: she took out a heavy black handgun and turned it over in her hands. 

She had barely an hour. Stealth was gone, the cover of the night was gone; she would have to go back there, get access to the mark somehow - and shoot them dead. 

The mark -  _ her _ : Laura.

No.

There was a passport in there. A German passport with a fake name, that she’d hardly had to use. And a plan B. She took that out too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yah thanks for clickin and readin
> 
> this story is already complete in its first draft, but it needs a lot of editing and I'm moving to Russia in precisely four (4) days, so I can't promise regular updates. It will be completed though I promise
> 
> (even though it's my first attempt at multichap and I already detest it)
> 
> Let me know what u thought in the comments, or come holla @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com


	2. Sugarcane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judgement has never been one of Carmilla's strong suits. And the price for disobedience is high in Lilita Morgan's shady underworld. She's running out of options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY. Moving to Russia is admin hell and I still don't have wifi so I'm updating from a coffee shop off the appropriately named Bauman street, which is the main street here in Kazan. (I'm so glad Elise is getting the attention she deserves)
> 
> title from Sugarcane by Sleigh Bells

Another call - another answerphone.

Carmilla swore loudly, hanging up and scrolling down to the next contact she had - someone who could help her, someone who could get her out of this.

Christian Rammelt. She hadn’t spoken to him in years. Carmilla hit dial.

It rang twice. She started at the sleepy “ _ ‘allo? _ ” from the other end.

“Christian! It’s Mircalla. Mircalla Karnstein.”

“‘Calla?  _ Alter _ , long time no speak, are you alright?”

Carmilla laughed hollowly. “I’ve been better. Things have gone sideways here, Chris. I need some help, are you still on base up north?”

She heard the hesitation in his voice as he replied in the affirmative and even before she’d finished asking, she knew it was useless. 

“Calla… you know I want to help you, right? But what you got into after you left - I don’t know what you do, and I can’t take that kind of risk here. What about the other guys who got out?” 

“I get it. I’m sorry I called.”

He tried to keep her on the line but Carmilla hung up quickly, unable to focus on what he was saying. She scrolled again - R, S, T. She was at the end of her contacts list - well, not quite. 

At the bottom was a new addition. She peered at the string of emojis making up the handle: a magnifying glass, notebook, gun, money bag. Laura Hollis. 

Her thumb hesitated over the number. She could make her meet her, take the gun, wrap up the hit and avoid this whole shitshow. But even as it played out in her mind’s eye Carmilla went cold. She couldn’t do that. Not now that Laura was a voice, a smirk, a hand at her side, a person. 

She threw the phone into the old military rucksack she’d been filling for the past half hour, and closed it up absently, her thoughts racing. She had no plan, no friends, a bag full of clothes and cash, and a motorbike. Time to go it alone, she guessed.

A front door slammed. Carmilla’s head snapped up. She grabbed the handgun and strode into the hallway.

“Well, well. Good morning, Carmilla.”

She knew that voice. A shiver made its way down her spine. “Straka.” 

He was stood on the welcome mat, leaning against the door, thumbs tucked into his pockets. At her entrance, Theo Straka lifted a hand and offered a lazy wave.

“You’re twitchy. Something got your lacy panties in a twist?”

“Why are you here?” she demanded, ready to lift the gun at a moment’s notice. “Did Lilita send you?”

He straightened and slunk towards her. “Full marks. You’re in a bit of a jam, aren’t you darling?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Carmilla snapped, “and she said I had time. Why don’t you go find someone else to harass?”

“Well,” he said again, coming to a stop a little too close for her liking, “she’s almost as twitchy as you apparently. She’s lost faith, Carmilla. So she sent me to clean up.”

“Looks like you forgot your rubber gloves,” she replied. 

“Funny.” With a flick of his wrist, Theo raised a long, curved knife to her eye level. Carmilla lifted the gun to his head and held it steady.

There was a long silence.

Theo tilted his head. “Come on, Wednesday Addams. You’re not going to shoot me.”

“Yeah?” Carmilla didn’t break eye contact. “Try me. I am a hitman, in case you’d forgotten.”   


“How? I’ve worked with you the whole time. You think I haven’t noticed that you have no taste for it? You fucked up with that Ell girl and ever since then you can’t even look someone in the eye if you want to take them down. It’s honestly pathetic.” Theo laughed maliciously.

Carmilla felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“So shoot me. You know Morgan’s out of patience. It’s me or you right now, what do you think your odds are?” 

She pulled the trigger and the shot discharged with thunderous volume in her narrow hallway.

Her ears rang; her wrist stung. Carmilla realised her eyes were screwed shut and when she opened them it was to Theo’s smirk. The bullet had raced over his shoulder and was embedded in her front door.

Theo shrugged. “Thought so.”

Then he was on her.

They went down, heavily, and pain stabbed through Carmilla’s shoulder at the impact. She didn’t have time to think about it, all her senses preoccupied with keeping Theo’s knife away from her. She jabbed a glancing punch into his jaw and pushed back against his weight, managing to get a hand on his wrist. His fist came down and she saw stars, the world suddenly silent.

_ No _ .

She jammed her leg up, rocking all her strength into the knee, and struck him in the groin. He went slack on top of her and Carmilla used her speed to roll them, delivering another punch to his face and getting her hands around his throat, acting on the muscle memory she hadn’t needed in years.

He was bucking beneath her. She smacked him again and seized the hand brandishing the knife. Her fingers were slender and she easily grabbed his thumb, bending it out of position until it gave with a crack and he yelped. The knife tumbled to the floor and she returned to delivering a flurry of hard, fast blows into his face, letting go of his throat and going in with both fists.

Red mist descended over her vision and white noise filled Carmilla’s ears, the static isolation interspersed with familiar sounds - gunshots, yells, the flails of the whip and the languages she did not understand. She kept going, kept hitting, fighting for her life, the noises looping again until she choked on her own spit and her knuckles screamed out in pain.

The red mist receded. Carmilla rocked to a halt. Theo was unmoving beneath her, his familiar face swollen and bloodied. Her shoulder throbbed and she could taste more blood in her mouth. She stumbled up and ran to the bathroom to retch.

Her body was screaming out for respite. But there was no time. As calmly as she could, Carmilla washed her face and hands. Her knuckles were swollen and bruised, and she could see a tender bruise blooming near her temple where Theo had struck her. She took her gun and swept the apartment for anything else she meant to take; by the time she’d finished she could hear a knock on her door. Her neighbour’s knock. Checking if everything was okay. 

God, she had no clue. 

Carmilla picked up her heavy backpack, stuck the gun in her pocket, and turned to the prone body in her hallway. She checked for a pulse and let out a sharp breath at the regular rhythm in Theo’s neck. Not dead.

Well, he could show himself out.

“Frau Eisen? Is everything alright?” She opened the door a crack. The middle aged woman who lived above her was there, eyes wide and uncertain. She sagged in relief at seeing her face. “Oh, Carmilla, I heard the most terrible commotion, is something wrong?”

Carmilla managed a tight smile and mumbled an apology. “I actually need to get to work now, so if you don’t mind…?”

“Oh! Me too. Let’s head down together.”

Carmilla grit her teeth. She barely listened as the woman twittered on about her infant grandson and his first day in the Kita, her thoughts twisting and twirling in her head instead. But when the woman asked tentatively what had caused such a ruckus in her apartment, Carmilla realised she had to think of something. 

“Oh. A bird flew in. It panicked and started hitting the walls. Gave me a hell of a shock.”

“Oh, I see…” her neighbour hesitated. “It sounded like a gunshot, or something.”   


“Yeah, what do you think it sounded like for me in there?” Carmilla managed. “I got it out though, don’t worry.” 

It felt like it took an age before Carmilla could shake the woman off, but eventually they parted in the yard, as she hurried off for a tram and Carmilla turned towards the apartment complex’s garage. The sight of her green, narrow motorbike sent a sigh of relief through her body. Carmilla tugged her helmet on and pulled down the visor, relaxing for a second in the quiet and the darkness it offered, before hopping onto the Kawasaki and pulling out from the familiar suburban outskirts. The engine roared powerfully. She just drove, out of the city limits and west, the rising sun at her back. 

What was she going to do now?  

* * *

 

Two days in, Carmilla still had no response to that question. She’d headed out, taking a nonsensical and looping route, to some no-name town near the Slovenian border, and was holed up in a fairly unappealing hotel near a small four platform railway station, watching smoggy clouds threaten a late summer downpour. The phone she’d used for work had met its demise under the wheels of a HGV about 200km back towards Vienna, and now she had nothing to do except wait for some inspiration to strike and hope she didn’t get shot in the meantime. 

So when the storm finally broke, she only chuckled hollowly and lit another cigarette. 

It was nice, she admitted to herself, perched on the outside window ledge with her nicotine, her vodka, and the cool rain on her skin and in her hair. It was soothing; it was cleansing.

She took a drag. She had sworn to herself she’d quit. She’d been so full of good intentions, once. Back when her future had been so certain, when she’d had her place and knew her role. Carmilla thought back, unwilling but unable to stop herself, to the moment that had changed it all. The knife, and the blood, and the anger. The betrayal - and the blank spot that followed.

Strange, that there was a time after that in which she thought nothing would change. That she could just move on, do her duty. From that moment, she was damaged goods - and it had taken her months to even see the fissure in her. 

Carmilla picked up the vodka bottle and took another generous swig. The drink - something else she needed to curb. But she had to allow herself some vices, surely. 

She peered down the long, long drop to the car park below, and suspected that if she wanted to avoid an embarrassing and anticlimactic end, she should probably quit while she was ahead. She dropped the bottle back into her room. 

Her phone rang. Carmilla felt hope flicker in her chest, and pressed it hastily to her ear. “Hello?”

“Carmilla? It’s JP. I got your message, are you alright?”

JP was a hacker based in London who’d helped her on a few jobs. He was discreet, fast - and unattached to Lilita Morgan’s operations. The timbre of his calm received pronunciation made her want to cry in relief. “I’m alive. I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay that way though. Look, can you help me? Give me somewhere to stay, give me some backup until I’ve got this under control? You know I wouldn’t ask unless I didn’t have any other options.”

There was a telling silence down the line. 

“Carmilla, you know that the Dean wants you dead,” JP said quietly, “and she’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants. I can’t go up against that sort of power. I’m not a fighter, I’m not like you. I can’t take that risk.”

“It’s okay, JP.”

“You know I’ll be looking out for you, and I’ll do what I can if you need me. But I can’t -”

“I get it,” Carmilla interrupted flatly. “I know you can’t. I just -” she stubbed out her cigarette violently, “-I don’t know how to get out of this. It’s a death sentence.”

“You can’t do it alone, Carmilla,” he replied evenly, “you need someone with you. Ideally, someone who she doesn’t know and she doesn’t expect. Someone resourceful. She knows me; she knows we’ve worked together.”

“If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears,” she said curtly. The rain was easing; she looked out to the dreary landscape below. A silver SUV pulled into the quiet parking lot with a splash.

“I’ll try and find some names; people I know haven’t stood on your toes down there.” Carmilla watched absently as two men, small and indistinct, got out of the car. “What did you do to tick her off so much?”

“Screwed up a hit. You know it’s not the first time.”   


“No, but it’s only the second. How many have you done right since you joined up with her?”

“Too many,” Carmilla grunted. The two people at ground level seemed uncertain, standing near their vehicle and spinning slowly. 

“Well, I hope she was worth it.”

“JP, you cretin, it wasn’t like that. She took me by surprise, that’s all.”

A sudden shout went up. Carmilla peered back at the car park. A shiver went through her. One of the men was pointing at her bike. The two moved with purpose towards the hotel entrance, and Carmilla swore. “JP, I’m gonna have to go, they’re here.”

“Christ,” he replied breathlessly, “Stay safe, Carmilla. Let me know if I can do anything. Try to be unexpected - like your hit, whoever she was. If anyone can get out of this, you can.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me.” she hung up the phone and dived back into her room. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and as she shoved the few things she’d taken out over the past couple of days back into her rucksack, she could only wonder how they’d found her. How they even knew about her bike, her path. 

The door slammed behind her and she turned sharply to take the corridor leading to the service staircase, which she’d scoped out on arrival. A paranoid tic that had paid off. The stairwell was silent and dark, so she thundered down it two at a time and burst out of the back door - straight into a six-foot bruiser who had obviously been waiting for her. 

Carmilla ducked quickly under the blow and sank an elbow into his side; he staggered back, shocked, and she followed up with a lashing kick that definitely cracked one of his ribs. He let out a guttural yell and doubled over, so she kicked him again with all her strength, the top of her boot making a solid connection with his temple. He fell loose-limbed to the floor and Carmilla kept going. Someone would have heard his shout. 

She clambered over the chain-link fence that separated the hotel grounds from bare scrub and the main road, and headed over to the scant cover of some stunted trees maybe two hundred metres away. As she went she pulled up maps on her phone. The train station was two miles in her direction. Otherwise it was hitchhiking as far as she could go.

JP’s words floated back to her as she set an easy running pace. She couldn’t do this alone. She needed someone resourceful. Someone smart, and unexpected, and different. Someone - someone exactly like the girl who’d messed up her plans and put her in this position in the first place. 

Carmilla chanced a glance over her shoulder. She was on a very slight uphill, so could see back towards where she’d come. No sign of pursuers - perhaps she’d finally chanced on some luck and they hadn’t heard her fight. They’d find their friend soon enough though. She didn’t waste any more time; Carmilla picked up her speed, pushing a little harder than was comfortable. She’d be there in ten minutes at this pace.

On the way she agonised over the number saved in her phone by Laura Hollis. Every ounce of common sense in Carmilla’s body rebelled against calling that number; the woman was no friend to her. On the other hand, whichever side Lilita Morgan was on, it was clear that Laura Hollis wasn’t on it. 

Carmilla let her breath come in short, fast huffs. 

Laura Hollis was a journalist. She had no clue how to navigate Carmilla’s gritty underworld, how to battle for her very existence like Carmilla had done since she was old enough to swear. She’d surely be more of a hindrance than a help. But Carmilla recalled Laura’s steely expression and the gun in her hand. The way she’d overpowered her - her disappointment at this fourth, rather rushed attempt to kill her. Apparently she didn’t go down easily. 

This was going to be the most embarrassing phone call of Carmilla’s life.

Within fifteen minutes she was on a train out of there; Carmilla watched out of the rain splattered glass as she left the dreary town behind - and hopefully whoever was tracking her. The carriage was fairly empty. She looked down at her phone, Laura’s number staring mockingly back at her.

“Fuck it,” she mumbled, and pressed dial.

“Laura Hollis speaking!”

God, she sounded annoying already. Did she not know that anyone could trace her by her phone? “It’s Carmilla.” she said flatly.

“Carmilla - oh. Oh my god. Erm. Why are you calling me?”

“You did leave me your number,” Carmilla pointed out caustically.

“I mean, that doesn’t really answer my question, though.”

“What is it with you and questions?”

“Well I don’t know what you expect me to say, you -” her voice dropped to a rather aggressive whisper, “-you tried to kill me a few nights ago and now you’re calling me up?”

Carmilla sighed. Yep, embarrassing. “You said you could use someone like me. Did you mean it?”

Laura took a while to answer and Carmilla drummed her nails nervously. “They came for you too.”

“Not the same they, sweetheart. My people came for me. The point is, I need new friends. You’re pretty good at avoiding getting shot. I figure we can help each other to not die.” Carmilla fiddled with her fold down tray as she waited for a response.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“If I had wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have gotten far that first night, Hollis. I’m sat on a train going to - ” she peered at the board at the front of the carriage, “going to Villach,  _ fuck _ , I’ve lost my motorbike, all I have is a rucksack full of clothes and I’ve not gone more than three hours without a drink in the past forty eight.” That sounded worse out loud. “I don’t work like this. I don’t call up the people I’m going to kill. I’m not that sick.” 

Laura took a deep breath. “Can you get to Leipzig by this evening?”

“You’re in  _ Leipzig _ ?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. It depends on connections. I can get there tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Text me when you know.” Carmilla rolled her eyes. “Oh, and you owe me a new bike,  _ Carmilla _ .”

The line went dead. Carmilla let her head drop with a thud on her tray.

She was going to Leipzig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx guys, sorry it's a bit of a filler. till next time whenever that may be. Find me here or @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . Maybe I'll have wifi soon. We live in hope.


	3. A Friend In Need's A Friend Indeed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla arrives in Leipzig. Conspiracies are revealed. Guns are fired. Desserts are eaten. And inappropriate thoughts are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wifi has been installed and i no longer feel like a babushka in the wilderness. i still haven't caught up w the new series tho :/ chapters are getting longer now, you can expect like 6000-8000 words in each i think.
> 
> chapter title's from Pure Morning by Placebo
> 
> fun fact: i used to live about a half hour from the centre of Leipzig. It's a gorgeous place.
> 
> happy reading pals x

Carmilla climbed the last step out of the metro and blinked in bright August sunlight. Her senses were immediately assaulted with light, and noise, and the unmistakeable smell of grilling sausage. It was market day by the looks of things; and leaving a busy, cramped underground station to find herself in this crush of people was not helping her foul mood. She’d gotten stuck in Dresden and had to sleep away the early hours on a metal bench in a drafty station with extremely inconsiderate pigeons in the rafters. She scowled, fishing out her sunglasses and jamming them over her eyes. 

Leipzig was a beautiful city - she’d have to soak up the ambience another time. Carmilla pushed her way through the throng towards the eastern side of the square, which was dominated by the Old Town Hall’s red roof and graceful eight-sided clock tower. Through her tired eyes it took on a surreal edge. 

She had agreed to meet Laura under the central archway of the Hall. It was shaded, and a little darker, and a very public place. Clearly Laura wasn’t enough of an idiot to trust Carmilla blindly. Some teen stepped into her path and she tensed, but he only tried to give her a voucher to the city museum. She shouldered her way through him and was immediately shrouded in the dim coolness of the passageway. 

“Carmilla!” The voice, exactly as she’d remembered, sent a shock of recognition through her. Carmilla took the damn sunglasses back off. Laura Hollis stood uneasily in front of her, in jean shorts and a light shirt, and for a second Carmilla didn’t really know what to say. 

Fortunately, Laura filled the silence for her. “Um. Hi.  I don’t really know what the protocol is for saying hi to someone who tried to kill me. Erm. How was your journey?”

Carmilla felt her eyebrow creep up her forehead. “Like hell,” she said, not really having any response to the rest of it.

“Sorry. Short notice always messes with travel, I know.” Laura scratched at the back of her head, and an awkward silence fell between them, almost as heavy as the summer heat. “Is that a bruise on your face?”

Carmilla shuffled awkwardly. “Look, cupcake, I really need a coffee, so why don’t we go somewhere where we can sit down and,” her lip couldn’t help but curl in distaste at the thought, “talk this out?”

“I -” Laura shot a sharp, suspicious look at her. “Yeah, okay. How about the university canteen?”

Carmilla shrugged. “Lead the way.” She hadn’t been to Leipzig in years.  

Laura set a fast pace, weaving her way through the city’s wide, busy streets until they opened out abruptly onto a huge square. Carmilla stopped, impressed. Far to her left, across the open expanse, was the city’s opera house, built in imposing GDR style. To the right - a beautiful 19th century fountain, juxtaposing starkly with the modern concert hall behind it. The space was immense. It was freeing; Carmilla found herself taking a deep, slow breath. The sky was blue and bright and unending.

Laura turned around. “You coming?”

Carmilla shook the dream away and followed her. Laura turned right and doubled back on herself, heading into an ultra-modern, jagged series of buildings with a harsh, blue-white face. With each twist and turn that Laura confidently took, Carmilla mapped their route in her head. Each face that passed them, she checked as unfamiliar and filed away. They were just students.

She could see, though, why Laura had picked the university canteen. It was huge too, and bustling with bearded, flannel-wearing, iMac carrying hipsters. Carmilla sank into a seat in the corner of the hall, letting Laura get their drinks. She gulped down half of her americano in one scalding mouthful, and swore explosively at both the heat and the cheap taste.

Laura didn’t respond. She was studying Carmilla intensely over the top of a creamy latte. Carmilla pretended not to notice; she could practically hear the whirring of the other woman’s brain. When Carmilla finally met her eyes she flushed and dropped her gaze to the froth in her mug.

Laura had invited her here. Carmilla was quite content to wait it out. Especially, as Laura’s leg started to tap rhythmically against her chair, since her silence seemed to get so under her skin. Carmilla had to stifle a small smirk at the thought. She returned Laura’s curious look, a lot more openly. Sat across the table, Carmilla could distinguish bags under her eyes, even under her light makeup, and a slight pallor across her tanned skin. She wasn’t as together as she wanted to make out. Carmilla was hit again by just how  _ young  _ she seemed to be - in looks, in manner, in the warm intelligence of those eyes. 

She stopped her thoughts there. 

“This isn’t some elaborate plot to kill me, right?” Laura couldn’t contain herself any longer; as soon as the question was formed she closed her eyes in contrition. 

Carmilla took a napkin from the holder in between them and unhurriedly wiped her mouth. Then she leaned back and met Laura’s eyes again. “What could I possibly have to gain by letting you live in Vienna, ignoring you for three days and then having a coffee date with you in one of the most public places in this crappy city?” 

Laura’s mouth worked for a second. “You have to see it from my side. Why should I trust you at all?”

Now Carmilla was irritated. “You invited me here, sweetheart, you tell me.”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “Are you armed right now?”

“That would be telling,” she smirked, “want to come over here and pat me down?”

“Wow. No.” Laura flushed red. “You can just tell me.”

She tapped her short nails against the plastic of the table. “I’ve got a handgun down my pants, a set of knuckledusters in my jacket pocket and two knives strapped up on my thigh. A lot of ammunition in my rucksack. Think that’s it-” she hesitated, “Well, there’s some piano wire in my waistband if I need to garotte anyone. Pretty sure that’s everything.” 

Laura’s eyes widened comically. “Holy hell,” she muttered.

Another knife was digging into Carmilla’s ribs under her bra. She didn’t mention that one. “So has anyone else tried to kill you?” Carmilla asked. 

“No,” she said, “after you, I left that apartment and went to stay with a friend near Munich. Then I came up here.”

“Why?”

Laura hesitated again. “Why did you call me?”

Tit for tat. Carmilla’s fist clenched around the napkin. “Not killing you got me into trouble. A lot of it. And my friends - they’re as scared of my boss as I am. I’m on my own out here. Like you. And if you’re against them, then you’re with me.”

“So what, I’m like the enemy of your enemy right now?” 

“Something like that.”

“Man, Carmilla, you really know how to flatter a girl.”

She picked up on the teasing tone in Laura’s voice. “Believe me, if I was flattering you, you’d know about it.”

Laura looked like she didn’t quite know what to say to that and Carmilla couldn’t help but smirk again. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Look, sugar,” Carmilla drained her coffee cup, “I think this should be a more fair exchange of information here. I’ve told you something. Now you need to tell me what you’re doing that’s got people trying to kill you.”

Laura leaned back in her chair and rolled rounded, strong shoulders. “You want another coffee?”

Carmilla glared, but nodded, and Laura slipped out of her seat towards the coffee machines at the far end of the hall. Carmilla watched her carefully. The girl wasn’t quite what she expected - in that she was much the same across a mid morning coffee as when she’d been holding a gun to Carmilla’s head. That took guts. Maybe more than she knew that she had. 

Laura had left her rucksack on the chair next to her. It was a small thing, more suited to a city break than Carmilla’s own heavy all-purpose bag. She debated having a look inside, but Laura was on her way back and she cast the errant thought out of her mind. 

She slid another strong black coffee in front of Carmilla. “Sorry. I just had to gather my thoughts. It’s kind of… a long story.”

“I don’t have anywhere better to be,” she pointed out reluctantly.

Laura worried at her lip with her teeth for a couple of seconds. “Have you heard of Vordenberg Petrochemical Industries?” 

“Means nothing to me, sweetheart.”

“VPI? They own a lot of refineries, processing plants, pipelines coming out of Russia? They’re based in Vienna.”

Carmilla thought for a second. The acronym did seem familiar. She could picture a logo in her mind, on the side of tankers; on billboards at football stadiums. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Laura wasn’t fazed by her apathy. “Anyway, they’re a pretty massive company. The richest in Austria for sure, and I’m pretty sure one of the top firms in Europe. I came over here to relax after the whole case back home, see some old friends, do some touristy stuff...but this thing just came up, again and again, and I had to start to look at what was going on.”

Carmilla gritted her teeth. “What  _ thing _ ?”

“Illness,” she replied quickly. “Really horrible, terrible illnesses, people in the most desperate states, everywhere I went,” Laura sat up a little straighter, her eyes shining.

“People get sick, Laura, especially if you were out East. It happens. I don’t see the scandal.” Carmilla sipped at her coffee. She wasn’t sure it was doing the best job.

“Just _ listen _ , Carmilla.” Carmilla sat back, looked at her flatly. “I took out a hire car with a friend of mine, and we started in Hamburg. We were gonna do the whole backpackers trip, you know? Through Poland, south to Hungary and Croatia and stuff. We were thinking of going to Greece if we could stretch it. But, I mean to start, I was kind of aware of this company, VPI. My friend is a lawyer and she’d just lost a case in London against them. I don’t know the ins and outs, it was a closed proceeding, and she can’t tell me anything either.” Laura took a drink of her latte. 

“So every time we were near one of their plants, or refineries, or whatever it was, I could tell, ‘cause Danny got pretty riled about it. And we got lost in Poland, somewhere pretty far north of Warsaw -”

“How do you get lost in Europe, have you never heard of a satnav?”

“ _ Somewhere _ , anyway,” she continued with a full-force glare, “and we ended up staying in this little town while we sorted our route out. And people-” Laura paused here, and her tone dropped, “-people were so ill. Like, noticeably. There were people in wheelchairs, people who were so frail, people who were dying so young. And yeah, people were worried, but the government had said that everything was okay. And they said that representatives of the company had come down and told them it was nothing to do with them. And when I asked which company, it turned out that pretty much everyone in this town was employed by a petrochemical processing plant owned and operated by Vordenberg Petrochemical Industries.”

“Investigative journalism at its finest.”

“Come on. It goes deeper than that. In that town a lot of people had pointed to the lake that was on the outskirts, and said it was some kind of Chernobyl hangover, just a freak coincidence. Certainly no one was going to challenge the firm, it’s been there basically since the Iron Curtain came down. 

“So anyway, I just kind of took some notes and we went on our way. But I mean, this company is an absolute monster. They distribute from Russia to so many different places, and in so many places, we hit the same kind of thing.”

“You’re not telling me that the whole of the continent is being poisoned by some oil business and no one’s noticed this,” Carmilla scoffed, “it’s ridiculous.”

“I changed our route, had us take some detours,” Laura carried on as though she hadn’t heard Carmilla’s scepticism, “you have to understand, it sounds obvious when I say it like this. It’s not. These places are in rural areas. They’re spread out - no more than one or two in each country. Sometimes they hire in workers from other places. They’re harder to track down but the pattern fits, a lot of long-term workers who’ve left have massive health problems now-”

“ _ Track down _ ?”

“Yes, track down. There’s a pattern. It’s across Poland, Lithuania, Slovakia, Hungary, parts of the Czech Republic - hell, even here. In Germany.”

“Bull _ shit _ .”

“Excuse me?”

“Look - cupcake - this is  _ insane _ . You can’t tell me that several countries, first world countries, developed countries, have this kind of industrial - I mean, what are you accusing them of? Environmental violations? Fraud? Health and safety? This is impossible, no company can be run like this.”

“What do you know about it?” Laura replied heatedly. “You kill people for money.”

Sharp anger flashed in front of Carmilla’s eyes. “You got that right. Christ, why did I even come here.” She stood abruptly and grabbed at her rucksack. She was wasting her time.

“You tried to kill me.” Laura’s voice called her back, cutting through the angry stream of her thoughts. “Why would you have to do that, if I wasn’t onto something? Why would killing me off be worth €80000 over here, where I’ve done nothing wrong?”

_ Goddamnit _ .

Carmilla, reluctantly, turned back to face her. Her eyes were shining, and her strong chin was raised.

“Tried is a strong word for it,” she muttered. 

“Oh, come off it,” and she was so unbelievably  _ annoying _ , “you gave me all you had, and you couldn’t do it.”

“All I had? Please,” Carmilla snapped, leaning her weight back on the table and towering above Laura, “if I’d given all I had, you would have been dead before you’d even noticed I was there.”

“I mean, sure, if that’s what helps you sleep at night,” Laura smiled, sickly sweet, “I know, eighty thousand is a lot more than most, it’s not surprising you bottled it. I must have been the biggest job of your career.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Carmilla snarled back. “Whoever wanted you dead was obviously some paranoid old bastard with too much money and not enough sense.”

“Someone like Hans-Albrecht Vordenberg?” she asked quietly. “83, CEO of VPI, rules the company with an iron fist, apparently not a man to suffer criticism?”

There was an intensity to her expression that made Carmilla’s thoughts skip. Slowly, she sat back down. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Laura just looked at her, a strange look momentarily crossing her face. “Let’s just… suspend all rational thinking for a second, and assume what you’re telling me is all actually happening. What are you asking me to do about this?” asked Carmilla eventually, setting down her empty coffee cup.

“Help me.” Laura said it simply. She caught Carmilla’s eyes and she didn’t let her look away. “Help me figure this out. You’re right; both of us are better off when we’re not working alone. We can solve this, we can take the fight to them. And maybe we can make a lot of people’s lives better by doing it.”

“No one’s come after you since me?” Carmilla repeated the question; Laura shook her head. “You know I’m gonna be bringing a whole host of trouble with me, right?”

“I figured,” she replied softly, “but so will I, if I keep going down this road. Between us - I think we can deal with it.”

“You’re putting a lot of trust in me already, Laura Hollis,” Carmilla smirked, “I could well take advantage.”

“I think if you’re telling me you’re gonna take advantage, I’ll be able to work it out,” she was smiling a little herself now, “you won’t take any advantage that I don’t want you to take, Carmilla.”

Carmilla allowed herself to take a deep, satisfying stretch. She stood up, and Laura followed her, sensing their coffee break was over. “Now that that’s decided,” she said with a groan of pleasure at the pop in her shoulders and back, “you know anywhere I can get some decent breakfast food?”

“I might know a place.” 

Carmilla shrugged, the repetition almost making her smile. “Lead the way.”

-o-

They ended up at Laura’s. She’d rented a little studio flat, complete with a kitchenette and ensuite, and was paying cash per day. When Carmilla asked how she was avoiding the massive red flag that would have been her passport registration, Laura just shrugged. “I have my ways,” she’d said evenly.

Laura had cooked eggs - Carmilla had needed to intervene after she put the heat on too high and almost set them on fire, but they turned out surprisingly palatable, and Carmilla was starting to feel almost human again. 

She dropped her phone on the counter with a loud clatter. “You know the code if you still think I’m here to fuck you over. I’m going to use your shower,” she called out, pulling off her shirt (which, she couldn’t lie, was starting to smell) and dropping her rucksack just inside the door.

“Yes, of course you can use the shower Carmilla, thanks for asking, that’s so polite of you-” She slammed it shut and locked it behind her.

Under the hot spray, she allowed her muscles to unknot - and, away from Laura Hollis’ big eyes and hopeful smile, let herself pretend that she was free and clear. She worked alone.

Carmilla helped herself to the conditioner on Laura’s shower floor.

There was no sound from the other room. With a short white towel wrapped around her, Carmilla swung the door open, feeling the cooler air hit her skin and raise goosebumps. 

Laura was perched on the bed behind her laptop, typing feverishly. “I take it there’s no hot water left in the building?” she said disinterestedly, eventually peering over the screen at her.

“Hmm. Nope, still got some. Not for lack of trying though.” Carmilla flicked her wet hair back. She didn’t miss Laura’s double take; how her eyes were dragged to her toned pale body barely covered by the towel. “What firm are you busting now?”

“I’m not,” Laura was staring somewhere over her her left shoulder. There was a slight flush on her cheeks.  _ Interesting _ . “Do you want to put some clothes on?”

Carmilla pulled an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun.” She shut herself back in the bathroom, hiding the wicked smile on her face. This wouldn’t be a complete bore, at least. 

(Until she ditched Laura and got the hell out of this mess.)

She tugged fresh jeans and a shirt on, tucking her weapons back into their various places. The gun tended to chafe at her back. She wished she’d invested in a better holster. 

When she reemerged, fully dressed and towelling her unruly curls dry, Laura was in the same position. She was glaring at her laptop as if it had insulted her mother. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Carmilla sat down at the end of the bed, watching how Laura shifted to accommodate her. 

“I don’t suppose you know anything about Belarusian visas?”

“Belarus? Why the hell do you want to go there?” Carmilla picked her phone up. It was turned off. She held it up to Laura, the question written on her face.

“I figured it might be traceable,” she shrugged, “you could have been trapping me.”

Carmilla grunted. 

“Anyway, VPI’s won some kind of contract to expand over there, it’s going to be competing with Gazprom, which seems pretty shady if you ask me,” Laura explained, dragging out the syllables as she talked, “I managed to send an email to a student out there who did a semester here on exchange, he’s reporting even more than I saw in Poland, and Belarus has much more room for illegality than here. If I can get in and find the precedents, where they’ve been able to cut corners, then the rest could fall into place.”

“I really don’t want to go to  _ Belarus _ ,” Carmilla cut in, “you do know it’s the last dictatorship in Europe, right?” 

“Look, it can’t be that bad. We go in, get the smoking gun, get back out, compare it to what’s going on here and we have the foundation of a case.”

“ _ It can’t be that -  _ do you have the slightest clue what you are doing, Laura?” she demanded, “no one cares about Belarus, it still has a death penalty in place! This is a waste of time, it’s dangerous, it could get you in even worse trouble than you’re in now -”

“God, I didn’t know you were, like, the world expert on it, Carmilla. Have you even been?” 

“Yes! It’s a shithole, Laura, it’s not the place to go for this.” Carmilla walked to the window and swung it open, wanting fresh air. The room was far too small. “Besides I don’t even know if I’d be allowed back there. I’d probably get arrested at the border.” 

“Why?” 

She gritted her teeth. “ _ Verdammte  _ \- none of your goddamn business, that’s why.”

“Carmilla - just  _ look  _ at what I’ve got on it, okay? It could be the place to get our evidence. If we could get something out of there, something as a comparison, it could blow this whole thing open.”

Carmilla turned around. Why did she keep on  _ pushing _ ? “One minute. Convince me.”

Laura launched into it again. “So VPI is in the middle of an expansion of their site with government approval, about 50 km from Minsk, in this town called,” she glanced at the paper in front of her, “Radoshkavichi.” The name rang in Carmilla’s ears and she wondered if the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on her. “They’re still operating the site as a refinery, so it’s completely hectic over there, it’s not nearly as secure as some of the other places so there’s a good chance of getting soil samples and photo evidence out. I mean I’ve sent off a few from the areas I’ve found, but not from the sites themselves so the evidence isn’t watertight. Here that could be different. Carmilla?”

Carmilla’s legs had gone out from under her. She leaned against the cool wall, trying to collect her swirling thoughts. She hadn’t thought of Radoshkavichi in five years. Not since she was there, not since she’d escaped, leaving the others, never to return. Now, here it was again. 

And she had someone on the inside. Someone who - if Laura was right, improbable as it seemed - didn’t deserve the suffering he was going to get.

“People working in that plant, Laura,” she said, far more calmly than she felt, “will they get sick?”

“Long term? Yes.” Laura replied quickly.

“You swear?”

“I wouldn’t lie.” 

Carmilla picked herself up. She felt queasy. “Do you have Skype on there?” Laura nodded and scooted up on the bed. Carmilla sat heavily beside her and logged in. “Time to make this kid’s day.”

He was online. She hesitated only for a moment, but clicked on his name, sent a message that she should have really sent a long time ago.

It was barely two seconds before her dial tone rang. She clicked answer. 

“Mircalla?”

“Dima _. Privet! _ ” Carmilla was right. The young, skinny kid on the other side of the screen looked like he was going to pass out. “How are you?”

“ _ Vsyo normal’no _ . Why did you never call me before?” he pouted.

Carmilla glanced at Laura, who looked extremely put out that she couldn’t understand the conversation in front of her. She ignored her, going through pleasantries with the kid. He’d been a puny fifteen year old last time she’d seen him.

Dima’s family had saved her life, and they didn’t even know it. The least she could do now was find out if he was as at risk as Laura evidently thought. 

She cut off his excited monologue about his plans to visit Moscow. “So what are you doing now, kiddo? You must have finished school, right?” Her Russian was rusty; her brain stumbled over long-neglected syntax and her tongue rasped against the unfamiliar articulation.

Dima grinned. “Finally. I’m making my own money now; at the refinery, you know the big one in town? Everyone works there. It’s getting bigger too. They say our wages are going to get better when they’ve finished. I hope so, you know how expensive it is to go abroad? I didn’t until I started looking at the trains…”

“I have an idea,” Carmilla replied weakly. Her stomach was churning. She interrupted him again. “Dima, do you want to meet my friend? Laura? She’s from Canada.”

“Canada?!” Dima’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” 

Carmilla motioned Laura over. She leaned across and murmured in her ear, “Dima’s a friend. He’s working at the refinery you’re looking into. But he only speaks Russian so you’re going to have to trust me to translate.” Turning back to Dima, she gave a stilted gesture of welcome. “Say hi, Laura, Dima!”

Dima’s jaw dropped comically and even through his dreadful webcam Carmilla could see the flush spreading over his cheeks. “How is your friend as pretty as you, Mircalla?” he stuttered out. 

Carmilla had to appreciate his Slavic straightforwardness. “Hey, eyes up here, tiger. There’s two beautiful women on screen, you’ve got to play it cool.”

“Hello, Laura,” he managed in a thick accent. Laura waved back, a little bemused. 

She allowed Carmilla to translate them through a brief and awkward introduction, before Carmilla told her to think of some questions. 

Laura grabbed her notebook. Dima stared dreamily over Carmilla’s shoulder. “Is Laura single?”

“Whatever she is, I don’t think you’d do it for her,  _ rebyonok _ .”

Dima was saved from having to answer by Laura’s triumphant return. She gave Carmilla a hesitant look, and began asking her questions. Carmilla translated. 

Dima had started just over a year ago after finishing school. He was just a maintenance apprentice  on the shop floor. He hoped to get promoted to a team member in the next few years, take some training as an engineer, if his national service permitted.

Had he noticed anything particularly strange about the expansions? Unexpected people around? Well, there were a lot of police, but that wasn’t unusual for here. Government too. It was a big win for them, after all. 

How about his contracts? Was he guaranteed a safe working environment in writing? Of course - he’d signed a contract guaranteeing it. This was when Dima began to look a little worried.

And health? Were people okay in the town? Were there cases of cancer, or leukaemia, or strange respiratory diseases that were outside the norm?

Dima paled. “Mircalla...what is this about?”

“Just…” Carmilla hesitated. Laura looked at her questioningly “Laura’s doing an article on Radoshkavichi as a success story. About how your town’s doing amazingly well, how you’re catching up to us over here in Europe,” she said carefully. When he looked unconvinced, she dropped her tone, leaned into the camera slightly. “Please, Dima? Can you tell us? We’d be so grateful.” 

Dima looked away. “Dad died. 2 years ago, they said he had untreated lung cancer. Because he smoked.” 

Carmilla remembered the large, silent man who’d taken her in for the night without hesitation. “Dima, I’m so sorry.” And she was. “He was a good man.”

Dima nodded stiffly. “He’s not the only one. There’s been a spate, over the last couple of years, loads of the old guys are dying. They say it’s just their mistakes catching up with them. But I don’t know. It’s sad, I guess. What does it matter though?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured to herself. A touch on her wrist shocked her; she’d forgotten to translate. Laura was looking at her with concern. She relayed what she’d found out. 

Laura seemed imbued with a sudden focus. “Dima,” she asked through Carmilla, “can I ask you a favour? I want to write about your work. Can you get me some pictures of the site? Like, particularly the water coolant tanks. And some genuine Radoshkavichi working soil? If you put it in a plastic dish that’d be perfect.”

“Laura, I don’t have a fucking clue how to say water coolant tanks.”

“Find a way,” she said in an intense whisper.

Carmilla was pretty sure she managed to get the idea across. Dima looked unconvinced. But she leaned back, carelessly pulled at the edges of her shirt, got Laura to speak a little more with him. 

Dima was starstruck, after all, and he agreed. 

“Send them - can you send them abroad? Can you send them in good packaging to my friend? Dr S LaFontaine, Toronto Technical University…”

Carmilla was exhausted. So was Dima, by the looks of things. He kept them on the line, chatting about anything he could think of, reluctant to cut them off. But as he talked, Carmilla noticed a dark trickle of blood from his nose. Her voice left her. “You’ve…”

“Oh.” Dima grabbed a rag from his desk. “Yeah, sorry. Been happening a lot. Maybe it’s the heat.” 

Carmilla felt sick. “Maybe. Look, Dima, we’ve got to go. Thanks so much.”

“You’ll keep in touch, though, right? And you too, Laura? I don’t want to wait five years to see your faces again…” he blushed, but his nose was bleeding, and Carmilla couldn’t laugh at him any more. She hung up quickly and put her head in her hands.

Just a kid. He was just a kid. 

“Carmilla?” A tentative touch on her shoulder; she recoiled slightly. “We’re going to help him get out of this, okay?”

“You genuinely believe this? What you told me? That he’s -” Carmilla took a breath and tried to steady herself. “That he’s going to get really sick?”

Laura gripped her shoulder again. The younger woman could only nod. “I’m sorry.”

Carmilla stood up sharply and went back to the window. She wanted to throw up, or hit something, or yell. “Fuck!”

“How do you know him - Dima?” Laura asked quietly behind her and she  _ really  _ did not want to talk about this.

“He’s no one. Just some kid. Does it matter?” Carmilla turned back to face her.  _ Why had she come here? Why had she let this woman tell her these things? _ “I hope you know how to use that gun you threatened me with. We might need to use it.”

“You’ll help me?” Laura sat up straighter, her eyes widening.

Carmilla nodded tightly.

Laura’s face broke into a smile of relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Carmilla. We’ll save your friend, alright? I swear.”

Carmilla couldn’t smile back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Can you fire that gun or not?”

Laura deflated a little. “I never tried.”

She sighed. 

* * *

 

They’d ended up on industrial scrub some way out of the city. Carmilla was not having Laura wander around with a gun she couldn’t use; she was also not going to drag a completely useless civilian on a chase after immoral companies and trained contract killers. 

Carmilla stacked scrap metal to make an acceptable target. Laura was watching her dubiously. 

“Gun out,” she said, walking back to her. 

Laura pulled it from her bag gingerly, but held it well and steady. Carmilla took a look at the chrome plated pistol. “Taurus?” she inquired with a raised eyebrow. “Cheap.”

“Yeah well, I wasn’t exactly going to get picky,” Laura glared at her over the top of her sunglasses and Carmilla couldn’t help but smirk. “What’s wrong with my gun, John McClane?”

Carmilla circled behind her to check her posture. “It’s a budget alternative to better manufacturers. Some people can forgive that. I can’t. Don’t lock your arms.”

Laura relaxed her arms. Her shoulders sprang up around her ears instead. 

Carmilla scratched at the back of her neck. She’d never liked teaching. “Relax your shoulders. Keep the arms extended but loose.” She let her eyes wander down Laura’s body. Shapeliness notwithstanding, her stance was a mess. “ _ Oh Gott _ . OK. Bring your feet closer together. Not that close. Like, hips’ width apart. Thank Christ. Don’t lean backwards, you idiot. Have you never heard of recoil? Jesus, don’t double over though. A tiny bit. Tinier. Tinier. Stop. Are you actually listening to me?”

By the time she was satisfied with Laura’s pose, the younger woman’s arms were relaxed, but she certainly wasn’t. “Is that enough for you? Like, seriously?” Apparently she was gritting her teeth. 

Carmilla was already exhausted. 

“Right. Hold the gun tight. Look down the barrel. Aim a fraction below what you’d expect. And fire -  _ slowly _ . Just squeeze the trigger as you breathe out.”

Laura took a second. She breathed in, out, in again, and Carmilla watched her chest rise and fall. Then, she tensed up and pulled. 

With a crack the bullet discharged and Laura’s arms snapped back from the recoil. “Holy f-!” she gasped. 

Carmilla ignored her and looked to the target she’d set up. It was unblemished. She cast her eyes around, looking for a trace of damage, but everything seemed completely normal. Laura must have missed spectacularly.

“Well that was...awful,” she huffed, walking back to where Laura was staring at the gun in her hands, “do you have any idea where your shot went?”

“It’s harder than it looks, okay?” Laura snapped. “I’d like to see you do better, oh mistress of the rain of bullets.”

Carmilla sighed, but she wasn’t going to turn down the challenge. She pulled her trusty pistol from her waistband and flicked off the safety. “When I was talking about quality weaponry, I was talking about this.” She turned it over in her hands and Laura, despite herself, peered at it curiously. “Glock 17, 9mm. First gun I learned to use. Still the best. Beats your crappy knockoff out of the park, sweetheart.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Now watch me,” Carmilla instructed. She could do this with her eyes closed, but she exaggerated her movements, settled into the optimal pose for Laura’s benefit. “Look at how I hold myself. Look at how I hold the gun.” She took aim at the sheet metal. There were letters painted in faded orange on it. She took aim at the centre of a large O, and squeezed the trigger easily. 

The sharp crack was followed by the satisfying  _ zing  _ of metal on metal. She’d hit her target. Of course she had. The spike of adrenaline made Carmilla smile to herself. 

Laura glared. “Well, you can handle the shooting, then.”

“I’m not dragging deadwood around with me, you cretin,” Carmilla retorted. “I might not always be able to protect you. If you’re going to carry a gun, then you have to be capable of using it. Or you’ll put us both in danger,” she finished heatedly, and Laura resisted for a second longer, before turning back to study her target.

Her hands were too relaxed; her pose was all wrong. And before Carmilla could doubt herself, she was wrapping her arms around Laura, gripping her hands tight on the handle of the pistol. Laura let out a squeak of shock. Carmilla could feel how tense she was, flush against her front.

“What did I tell you? Relax,” she said, making an effort to seem calmer, close to Laura’s ear. “You’re tensed up.” Laura’s chest was almost heaving. “Control your breathing. You having a heart attack or something?” 

Laura’s voice wavered slightly. “Well I can’t exactly relax when you’re completely disregarding the concept of personal space, you weirdo.”

Carmilla let out a noise of derision. “Personal space wasn’t helping you to shoot straight. Just trust me, alright?” 

She tightened her hands over Laura’s, forcing her to grip tighter. Then Carmilla leaned into her, carefully, enough to make her bend forward by the tiniest amount at the hips. It was warm under the summer sun. Laura’s perfume was sweet and light.

“Now, breathe steady,” she instructed softly, lips almost brushing the soft skin, and Laura took slow, even breaths. “Remember this position. Make it instinctive. Okay? Line up your shot. Here.” She guided Laura’s hands gently, helped her to find the line. “When you’re ready - squeeze the trigger. Slowly.”  

The discharge of the gun was followed by that familiar ring of contact. “Yes!” whooped Laura, leaping out of Carmilla’s arms. “Nailed it!” 

“What are you, five?” Carmilla shook her head, but followed Laura to inspect the mark. Not as precise as hers - but enough. “Not bad, shortstack.” Laura threw her a withering look which she returned. “Now do it again. Without me this time.”

By the time she was satisfied that the journalist wasn’t going to accidentally blow her head off, Carmilla was ravenous again. They headed back to the city on a mostly empty bus, and Laura stared out of the window for most of it. Just as Carmilla was debating a power nap, Laura broke her silence. “Where did you learn to use a gun?”

Carmilla wasn’t going to get into this. “I’ve been around. Turned out it was a useful skill to have when you’re a hitman.”

Laura looked at her, eyes big and somehow sad. “It’s easy to forget that it’s to use on - people. Not to shoot at scrap metal in a field.”

“It’s easy to forget that they’re not the same thing, sweetheart.” Where had that come from? Carmilla’s heart stuttered in her chest. She almost flinched.

Laura turned back to stare at the passing cars. “I’ll let you handle the shooting.” 

-o-

Laura’s phone buzzed over dinner in a tiny pub down a back street of the city, and Carmilla gave her a sharp look. “Your phone could be traced.”

She nodded. “This is a disposable one. It’s not the one you called me on.”

“So who has the number?”

“People,” she replied distractedly, opening up her texts. The phone was a brick at least 10 years out of date.

“ _ Laura- _ ”

“Sssh!” she hushed her, thumbs flying over the keypad, and Carmilla clenched her fists around her cutlery. 

The waiter came over with her second beer, but he picked up on her icy glare at the girl opposite and made himself scarce. She took a gulp from the heavy glass. 

Laura put her phone down and met her eyes guilelessly.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to be on your phone in other people’s company?”

Laura didn’t dignify that with an answer and Carmilla shovelled more potatoes in her mouth with malice.

It was only during the dessert that Laura insisted on ordering that she decided to explain herself, around a mouthful of ice cream. “So I might have found someone in Berlin who can tell us more - from an inside perspective, I mean.”

Carmilla was about to light a cigarette. She paused. “Tell me.”

Laura’s eyes were on the cigarette as it caught. “Nazneen Ramanujan. She’s working for a new environmental NGO in Berlin. I found out about her work now online. But before she was in Vienna, at Vordenberg headquarters. To go from working in oil, to working in renewables and combatting air pollution - it sounded like a guilty conscience to me.”

Carmilla took a deep drag. The nicotine calmed her somewhat. “Why do you keep springing these things on me?” 

“I only met you this morning!”

She breathed out a plume of smoke into the dusky summer air. “Huh.” It felt like a lot longer. “And she’s - what? Going to tell all? Smash open this case in time for supper?”

“She might.” Laura put down her spoon. She’d polished that off in record time. Carmilla noticed a bead of ice cream sitting at the corner of her lips. “How do you feel about Berlin?”

It was hard to take her seriously with food around her mouth. Carmilla leaned back, feeling herself growing distracted. “Haven’t been in a while. Full of Americans, last I checked.” She couldn’t help but smirk. “And Canadians.”

“Well, I’m sure they can deal with one more. We’re going. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell you the rest beck at the flat,” she said quickly, as the waiter came over with the bill. 

Carmilla pulled out two twenties before Laura could look. “Dinner’s on me tonight,” she winked at the waiter, who looked between them and blushed. He couldn’t have been more than twenty himself. Then she stubbed out her cigarette and stood, pulling her bike jacket on and offering an enraged Laura her arm. “Come on,  _ Schatz _ . Your place or mine?”

“You’re the worst,” she muttered, but took Carmilla’s arm anyway, to her surprise. The night was mild, and they walked through the narrow streets in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Laura kept a loose grip on her. 

“It’s easy to feel safe, right now. To forget that someone’s after us, wants to kill us.”

“Not when you’re around, sunshine.” Laura let go of her arm and Carmilla felt contrite. “As long as we take the right precautions, it’ll be damn hard for them to find us. They might not even know you’re with me, which would make things easier.”

“More like you’re with me.” Laura smirked. 

“Hardly. You would be six feet under without me,” Carmilla responded, affronted.

“Oh yeah? Sorry, where are we going again? That’s right, we’re going to mine.”

She span around triumphantly at the door of the apartments and was taken by surprise by Carmilla’s proximity. “Not the first time I’ve ended up at a girl’s after dinner, Hollis,” Carmilla purred, “I think you’ll find I’m still in control, no matter who’s place it is.” She just couldn’t help herself, and waited for the pithy retort.

But Laura broke the rules. She froze, staring up at Carmilla, trapped between her palms on the door behind her, and the rational thoughts flew out of Carmilla’s head. Because Laura was annoying, and ridiculous, and she was probably going to get her killed, but she was pretty, and passionate, and everything that Carmilla wasn’t any more. 

Her chest was heaving, and her lips were plump and inviting. And there was still dessert on the corner of them. She was tempted to taste it. 

Instead, she let her thumb graze across the soft skin, and Laura let out a gasp that almost had Carmilla pushing her up against that door. “You had something...” Carmilla murmured, and tasted chocolate on her tongue. It was shockingly sweet.

Hastily, Laura fumbled with the keys and shouldered her way into the dark stairwell, not waiting for Carmilla to follow.

Their night was silent after that. When Laura grew bored of channel hopping she changed into an old T-shirt and sleep shorts and, after perfunctorily offering the bed (which Carmilla refused), she slid between the sheets, her back to her. Carmilla continued watching for a while. She could tell Laura wasn’t sleeping. She wondered why the other woman even trusted her at all. 

Carmilla dragged the chair in front of the door and curled up, turning the TV on low and leaving a lamp. It wasn’t the worst place she’d slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for your time all
> 
> another fun fact: Radoshkavichi is a real place and i spent two strange weeks there on a children's summer camp last year. as far as i know it is completely unpolluted and also safe. it's ok i promise, apart from the political repression and all that.
> 
> as always come holla @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com and/or leave a review below 
> 
> i'm stuck in Russia with no passport atm so you're all my only joy in life :))))


	4. ... A Friend Who Bleeds Is Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic duo go to Berlin. Carmilla gets touchy. Laura gets competitive. And shit gets real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaah sorry real life is happening. But we get a movie and I am LIVING
> 
> I hope u all like action cause hoo boy, I'm knackered just from writing this chap. 
> 
> chapter title follows from the previous - Pure Morning, by Placebo

Carmilla was agitated.

She hadn’t slept well, curled awkwardly on the chair in Laura’s room, the cold grip of the gun clutched in her fingers all night. And the low drone of the TV couldn’t chase away the nightmares that she hated. 

Now they were taking the tram to the train station, destination Berlin. And from the moment they’d emerged in public, she’d felt watched. Carmilla had trained her instincts from adolescence. She’d refined them, learned to rely on them. Now they were ringing in her head, far too loudly to be ignored.

She scanned the faces surrounding them for the fifth time. 

“ _ Next stop:  _ Hauptbahnhof.” The cool voice rang out around the carriage. Laura moved to get off but Carmilla’s hand shot out and gripped her arm.

“Carm-” 

“Wait.” hissed Carmilla, as around them, the tram started to empty. At the last minute, just as the bell rang for the doors to close, she launched herself up and off, dragging Laura with her. Behind them, they clattered shut, and Carmilla marched over to a bus idling in its bay outside the station.

“What’s going on?” demanded Laura, attempting to free her arm from Carmilla’s grasp. 

“We’re being followed,” she gritted out in response, “don’t look around! Just stay with me.” She checked with the bus driver. This bus was due to leave imminently. Only going to the Leipzig Trade Fair. Carmilla racked her brains. There was a train station there. 

No one got on after them. The other faces on the bus were unremarkable, uninterested. The bus pulled away after a few seconds. Laura looked at her in confusion. “Who?” 

“I don’t know,” she breathed, “I didn’t see them.”

“So how did you know?”

“I’ve got a sense for it. You pick it up, after a while.”

“You enjoy playing this whole mysterious act, don’t you?” Laura was tetchy this morning. Carmilla suspected she hadn’t had a restful night either. Her hair was still wet.

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

At the Trade Fair they took a train only as far as Halle, an inconsequential city with a disproportionately large station. Carmilla finally parted from her phone, leaving it on a fast train back towards Munich, and pulled Laura onto a red regional train heading north. They only travelled another half hour to Bitterfeld before Carmilla insisted on another change.

No train to Berlin for 40 minutes. Laura groaned. Carmilla drank the tiny, grubby cafe dry of coffee and asked them to put something hard in it. The barista laughed at her joke. She wasn’t joking. A cleaner told her off for smoking in the station. She pointed out that they were literally outside. It didn’t fly and she grumpily threw the butt on the tracks. Two old ladies stared at them judgmentally. Laura wouldn’t stop  _ twitching _ .

She couldn’t even breathe a sigh of relief when they chugged their way out of the ghost town northwards, towards Berlin. Carmilla hated trains. She missed her motorbike.

“I miss my motorbike,” she grumbled to the air.

“No kidding,” replied Laura in English from her seat opposite. Carmilla had flat out refused to give her the forward facing one. “I don’t think you’ve taken that jacket off except to shower. It’s like 25 degrees out there already.”

“Been thinking about me in the shower, have you?” she replied automatically, but she couldn’t put much bite into the retort. Not after that weird moment on Laura’s doorstep. She didn’t need this to get any more complicated than it already was. Carmilla changed the subject. “So what’s the plan with this informant of yours?”

“I’ve been chatting with her for a few weeks now, gaining her trust, you know?” Laura fought against a flush rising in her cheeks. “She seems pretty convinced that there was something worth talking to me about going on over there. We’re going to meet her this evening, at-” she scrolled through her messages, “-Frankfurter Tor?” 

“So we didn’t even have to get up this early?” said Carmilla. Laura had made no attempt to be quiet when she’d rolled out of bed sometime before eight AM.

“Well apparently we did, since you’re determined to take the longest route possible.” Laura replied, slipping the phone back into her pocket. 

“I mean if you would rather make it really easy for anyone to follow us, go ahead.”

“Please. You’re not going to leave me alone.”

“Try me.” 

Laura met her eyes for a second, then shook her head with a snort. “So are you going to tell me about yourself now?”

“No chance.” Carmilla pulled out a copy of  _ Either/Or _ from her rucksack. “Now shut up and let me read.”

“I’m being escorted around by a philosophy reading contract killer,” muttered Laura, “this is what my life has come to.”

“Lucky you,” Carmilla replied.

 

* * *

 

Berlin, just like Leipzig, had come out to play in the summer sun. From the train station they walked south into the centre, past the Reichstag and its great glass dome, and found themselves on Pariser Platz, in the shadow of the Brandenburg Gate. 

Carmilla glanced at her watch. “We’ve got the whole afternoon to waste, cutie.” 

Laura appeared not to notice the nickname. “Got any sights you want to see?”

“Hardly.” Carmilla looked around uneasily. Traffic flowed on the other side of the imposing landmark; a black sedan, a silver SUV. Red sports cars and dull people carriers. “I think we should throw them off some more. Follow me.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“You’re naive. Something isn’t right here.” She led Laura away from the busy square and to the Friedrichstrasse station, jumping on the first U-Bahn that came their way.

By the time she’d led a trail to her satisfaction, Laura looked about ready to strangle her. “Do you know where we even are, Carmilla?” 

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ just to annoy her further, “but hopefully no one else does either.” 

Laura flashed her a glare, and spun on the spot. “Eberswalderstrasse… Wait! I know this street!” 

“Praise the lord. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you didn’t.”

Laura glanced at her wristwatch. “We’ve still got a couple of hours. Have you ever been to Doctor Pong?”

Carmilla looked at her bright face warily. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Oh come on, you grump! It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do anyway!” Laura began walking resolutely along the wide boulevard.

“Well, I was thinking of finding a strong drink…”

“Perfect! It’s a bar!” 

Carmilla sighed. Then she followed Laura’s light footsteps, the sun boring through her thick biking jacket.

Laura hadn’t lied, it turned out. Doctor Pong, only a couple of minutes from the station, was indeed a bar. It was also a ping-pong arena. Carmilla ordered herself a whiskey, neat, and planted herself on a barstool until Laura, pink cocktail clutched in her hand, came over with two ping pong rackets in the other. 

“Carmilla -”

“No.”

“Why do you hate fun so much?”

“Why do you hate leaving me alone?”

“Come on! Scared you’ll get beaten?”

Carmilla took another sip of spirit, giving her a withering look over the rim of her glass. “It’s not going to work.”

“You’re so scared.” When Carmilla didn’t budge, Laura sagged a little. She leaned in towards her. “Look, Carmilla, I’ve barely slept in the past month, okay? Can you, please, cut me a little slack and play this goddamn game?”

Her eyes were huge and Carmilla felt her resolve weaken. She drained her tumbler. “Christ’s sake,” she muttered, “come on, then.”

Laura’s face broke into a wide smile. “Hope you’re ready to face the oncoming storm.”

“Yeah? You’re going to get steamrollered, Hollis.”

“Try me.”

They squared up over the green table, separated by a low net. Laura glanced at her, and smirked. She whacked the tiny plastic ball with intent towards her, and Carmilla leapt into action to meet it.

Carmilla was in top shape. Her body and her mind had been trained into producing the quickest reactions, the best coordination, and going from combat to table tennis was hardly a step up. She just wasn’t expecting Laura to be quite so  _ competitive _ .

“Hah!” the journalist in question whooped triumphantly as the ball whizzed past Carmilla’s right side. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Carmilla bit down a curse but couldn’t stop a grim smile from spreading over her face. Laura’s enthusiasm was infectious. She took the ball and readied it to serve. Catching Laura’s eye, she flashed her a wink, and sent it zooming onto her side of the court. Laura missed it entirely, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “Okay, you can’t put me off on your serve! That’s massively cheating!”

“Well maybe,” Carmilla grinned, switching sides to serve for her second point, “you shouldn’t get so easily distracted, sweetheart.”

A few of the other patrons were watching their duel with interest. Carmilla cracked her serve down the line, and Laura returned, skimming the ball low and fast. Carmilla’s bat met it. They traded blows in a short rally, each strike faster and faster, until Carmilla sent it skidding at a wide angle out of Laura’s reach. 

“Damnit!” Laura stilled. Carmilla mimed blowing the smoke from the bat in her left hand. Laura narrowed her eyes. “Still on serve. Just you wait.”

And indeed after that her luck turned, as Laura hit a row of winners with venomous intent over the net. 

“Game over!” Laura crowed, dropping her bat with a clatter. “I think you owe me a drink, Carmilla!”  

“This game sucks,” she mumbled, making her way back to the bar more alcohol. “And I don’t think we agreed those terms.”

“Well, you’ve got to give me something for that, I completely smashed you -” she paused, “whatever your surname is. Are you ever gonna give me like the most basic facts about you?” Carmilla ordered another whiskey, and turned to Laura, question clear. “Oh - just another mocktail, thanks.”

“You’re not even drinking?” 

“Some of us have a pretty important meeting this evening, you know.”

“All the more reason to loosen up.” Carmilla offered her her tumbler and, after a second, Laura took it, sipping at the whiskey. Her lips left a smear on the rim. 

She seemed different after the game. Looser. For a second, their hands met around the cold glass. 

Then the barman slid her mocktail over, and the moment was lost. 

Laura stirred the bright mixture with a straw. “I was born in Germany, you know.”

Carmilla peered over her glass at her and stayed silent.

“My parents were stationed near Stuttgart. I grew up on a military base. When my mom died-” Laura took a drink, “my dad moved back to Canada with me. Ontario. But I loved it here. I kept my passport. I kind of - well, I always wanted to come back. I would have, if my dad had let me.” Laura looked up at her. “And now I am here. With you, and a story, and maybe a bunch of people trying to kill me on our trail. Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

Carmilla looked at her then, thought about the quiet fragile strength that she’d had ever since she’d aimed that gun at her, and she made a little more sense now. “I’m sorry about your mother.” 

Laura nodded. “It was a long time ago.” Then, she fixed Carmilla with a look. “Who are you?” 

The light mood of before had evaporated. Carmilla put her glass down. “Carmilla Karnstein. I’m 28 years old. I was born in Graz, Styria. I’ve been in the business for three or four years. My favourite colour is black, and I smoke too many cigarettes,” she finished, feeling the itch for another. 

“Karnstein.” Laura was looking intently at her, figuring her out. “It’s an unusual surname.”

She shrugged. “As much to me as you. I was a kid of the system. Never knew anyone else with it.”

“Hmm.” Laura took another drink. “And that’s it?”

Carmilla finished her whiskey. “Got to keep my air of mystery somehow, haven’t I?” She shook her cigarette pack at Laura, heading out for the fresh air, away from the crushing claustrophobia of the bar.

Laura followed after a few minutes, and they made their way to the U-Bahn, to catch their final train to Frankfurter Tor.

Laura checked her phone on the way and let out a curse. “Nazneen tried to call me. Crap.” She jammed the phone to her ear. 

The reason for them coming here seemed rather distant to Carmilla right now. Maybe it was the calming touch of the alcohol in her system, or maybe it was Laura’s infectious smile. But the creeping sense of discomfort crept over her again, letting her know she was a fugitive. She couldn’t help but check out their surroundings. Unfamiliar people. Busy roads, full of the rush to get home. A balmy, summer evening vibe. And Laura, next to her, listening to whatever was on the line. 

Carmilla swung onto the southbound train, Laura behind her. They were only one stop away. Laura put her phone away. “She’s not picking up.”

Carmilla glanced at the time. 20 minutes. “It’ll be okay. Maybe she’s nervous.”

Laura didn’t respond and twisted the hem of her jean jacket between her hands.

They got off barely two minutes later and emerged again into surprising heat, and the loud chaotic festival atmosphere of a beer mile. Carmilla had forgotten about this. It made things harder. People pushed past them both ways and, on edge, she grabbed Laura’s upper arm. “Stay close to me.” Laura stared at her. 

She hated crowds. The wide network of roads opened out to a large central square, dominated by the two blocky, stalinesque towers back towards the city centre ahead of them. Between the towers was the wide major route, its centre dominated by lively, crowded tents and marquees. Above, distant and matchstick sized in the horizon, towered the pride of the GDR - its TV Tower, stretching to the blue summer sky.

“Where is she meant to be meeting us?” 

Laura looked at her, then around. She pointed out the large charity shop to their right, an emptier space where kids with skateboards hung out. “Outside there.”

Carmilla nodded, and headed away, crossing the busy 6-lane highway and finding her way to the scrubby grass of the beer mile. From here they could still see it. She and Laura went to the long benches laid out, and sat down side by side, waiting. Nazneen had maybe 10 minutes. Laura  seemed even more nervous. “I don’t think she’s gonna come.”

Carmilla didn’t respond. She slipped her hand down her back, touched the cold metal of her handgun. 

“There!” Laura grabbed her arm and pointed.Walking briskly down the pavement opposite, just visible, was a willowy woman in a light summer skirt and pale blue hijab.

“You sure that’s her?” Carmilla asked, and Laura nodded. “Ok. We’ll wait for a couple of minutes, just to make sure she’s not being followed.”

Nazneen came to a stop across the street, on the square. Uneasily she looked around, hands fluttering in front of her. Then, she seemed to turn to them. After a second, she walked to the junction. Carmilla narrowed her eyes. “She’s seen us?” 

Laura raised a hand, trying to make a ‘stay there’ sort of motion. But Nazneen, hovering at the kerb, made up her mind and stepped out onto the road towards them. 

What happened next unfolded, seemingly, in slow motion to Carmilla. A blocky silver SUV tore away from the parked cars at the edge of the intersection with a roar, picking up speed at an improbable rate. Nazneen, two lanes of the six crossed, froze in consternation and turned to the car barrelling towards her. It didn’t stop. Carmilla stood.

The vehicle made contact with a thud. It cut through the crowds and the traffic and the summer air. 

The SUV. Austrian plates. Carmilla remembered the view from her hotel room. The men who’d spotted her bike. Them. 

The car rolled to a stop in the middle of the junction. The fallen woman didn’t move. Laura gasped. The stillness shattered.

Someone screamed. The doors of the SUV swung open and four men, dressed in black, jumped out. They were looking for them. 

“Time to go, creampuff.” Carmilla sprang out of her tension, like a coiled spring, and grabbed Laura’s hand. They wove their way into the terrified, mesmerised crowd around them. Some were smart; they’d seen the hit, the men, and were fleeing the scene. Others were on their phones, going to the body, staring in horrified silence at what had unfolded in barely three seconds. 

Carmilla grabbed an empty glass at the table. Someone wasn’t getting their deposit back on it. Behind them, a gun discharged, and now there was panic. “Stay with me!” Carmilla yelled over the commotion. Laura grasped more tightly. 

They barrelled through the narrow paths. Carmilla almost tripped on a thick wire snaking between the tents; Laura heaved her up. “This is a great big straight line!” she shouted. “We have to get off it!”

Carmilla nodded, but Laura probably couldn’t see her. Behind them, the crowds ebbed and flowed, and terror poured out of them like floodwater. Another shot echoed down the mile. 

Turning from the narrow route, they cut through the middle of a now abandoned tent and kicked their way out of the back entrance. Opposite, across the road - a side street. Men’s voices, growing louder and more threatening with every heartbeat. 

They launched themselves out, dodging the speeding traffic on the way. Horns blared and Carmilla cursed. Ducking into the alley, she didn’t give Laura time to recover, pulling her quickly down and around waste bins and locked bikes. 

A shout. Her instinct. She tugged Laura sharply to the wall as a bullet thundered past them. A second’s pause. She turned.

One man. The shooter was taking aim again. There was nowhere to hide. Carmilla rushed him, messily smashed the glass she’d picked up  into his face with a crunch. She slammed her foot into his knee and he dropped, already bleeding heavily. Her heart pounded painfully in her ears. “Laura!” 

Laura was crouched where Carmilla had left her, looking shell shocked at the violence that she’d just witnessed. Carmilla grabbed her hand again. “Come on!”

They went further into the warren of residential streets off the highway, weaving a meandering, looping path around grey apartment buildings. Carmilla couldn’t think clearly. She’d never had to protect someone else like this. It was making her nervous, shaky. With every turn she panicked that a bullet was going to fly into Laura’s unprotected flesh, that they’d be met with violence the journalist wouldn’t be able to reckon with.

Thoughtlessly, she turned another corner, and jolted to a halt. Laura crushed into her back and grabbed at her shoulders. Her heart stopped.

Theo was up and about. His face was swollen; one eye seemed permanently closed against the damage she’d inflicted back in her flat. He managed a mutated, malevolent smile at the sight of her. 

And he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood a tall wiry man with dark features and pale skin forming a vaguely familiar face, and a third, squat and thick-necked with a barrel chest and a crowbar in his meaty fists. 

The tall man looked them over with distaste. But it was Carmilla that his eyes lingered on, twisting his mouth into a sinister grimace that had her skin crawling. “I think the two of you can deal with them, hmm?” he murmured and, with a final glance, turned his back and left the side road. Carmilla watched him pull a phone from his jacket pocket before he vanished from her sight. 

Theo glared at her, unbridled hatred in his eyes. Carmilla stood stock still on the balls of her feet, trying to protect as much of the girl behind her as she could. But neither drew a gun and it occurred to her that they weren’t packing. This  _ was  _ Europe, after all. 

“Should you be out of hospital, Straka?” she asked, studying the scars and protrusions. “You can barely see.”

“I can see well enough for what I want to do,” he retorted softly, stepping in closer to them. “You should have killed me back there. Now you’re going to pay for this.” His accomplice followed. 

She was thinking too much at once. Straka wanted her, first and foremost. But the other one seemed the greater threat. And she couldn’t leave Laura to defend herself. 

Laura whispered in her ear. “Gun?” She shook her head in response. They didn’t need a police trail on top of everything else. 

That was the very last resort. And they weren’t there yet. “Laura. Run.”

Then, she went in. Straight to the beefcake, charging in past the reach of his crowbar and punching powerfully into his gut. It was like punching a boulder. Unperturbed, he moved away, trying to get the reach on her again, so she shook out the pain in her hand, used her speed to follow in, and went for his groin. But his knee sank into her side and pain blossomed over her ribs. She backed off. Too far. He swung. She ducked under the blow, and his momentum carried him over her head. She grasped his wrist with one hand and stepped around, delivering a brutal elbow to the face, and his head snapped back. That gave her the time. The elbow continued and she snaked her hand under his arm, grasping her other hand at his wrist, and twisted him into an armlock with vicious force. Something gave and he let out an animalistic yell. Carmilla followed him to the ground, let go only to punch him again. Her other hand crunched on his damaged wrist and the crowbar clattered to the ground. She grabbed it. Smashed it over his head to finish him. 

Theo. 

She span, trying to breathe through the screaming pain in her side. Laura and Theo were gone. 

She ran back the way she’d come, listening hard, barely daring to think about where they could be, what he could be doing to her. A crossroads. “Laura!” she screamed, feeling dangerously close to an all out panic. The thug she’d just beaten was slow, untrained. Theo was a different story.

An answering scream. “Carm-!”

Her heart leapt into her throat. Left. Close. She sprinted down that way, but the road was straight and there was no sign of them. A crash. Off the main street. There was a tiny lane in the maze of streets, its gate hanging open and damaged. It had to be them. She didn’t have time to doubt it.

He had cornered her halfway down and Carmilla could barely breathe. Even as she ran to meet them, Laura launched herself at him, her fists flying, but her panic was obvious from here and Theo wrapped his arms around her in a tight, suffocating embrace. “Now now, Laura Hollis, let’s all just calm down,” she heard him say and her skin crawled. 

“Straka!” she screamed, the crowbar cold in her grip. “Get the fuck off her!” He still had her in his grasp, but turned to meet her. 

She froze as his large hand tightened over Laura’s delicate, unprotected throat. Her eyes were wide and terrified. “Look, why don’t I save us both the trouble? Terminate this one, earn my pay, and bring you in. There’s a way back, Carmilla.”

“You’re not killing her. And I’m not going back there. I’m not as stupid as you.” Carmilla edged forwards, but Theo took a step backwards, dragging Laura with him. She let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a gasp and Carmilla had to force herself not simply to run at him. 

“What are you going to do about it, huh?” Theo smirked without any humour. “You can’t kill me. You’re too yellow for that and you know it. You know, you are the worst assassin I’ve ever had the bad luck to work with - incapable of doing the job on anyone who she actually sees. You’re a joke, Karnstein!” 

“Who told you my name?” She managed. 

“Lilita Morgan. Your dear Dean? She’s quite the sharer, when something’s got under her skin, you know. Told me a whole load, about your dark and tortured past-” Laura’s hand went to his on her throat and Carmilla saw with a shock that he was squeezing the life out of her. 

The thoughts went out of her head. She raised the crowbar, no plan, no control.

Laura jerked. Her right foot stamped down, hard, on Theo’s and he let out a yell of shock and anger. She’d made space. Her left elbow filled it, shooting back with raw strength into his stomach, just above his groin, and she followed it up with a fist, which flew forcefully between his legs.

He let go and Carmilla could only watch, stunned, as Laura punched him hard in the nose with her first two knuckles, a picture perfect technique, and kneed his abdomen as he doubled over. She stared at Laura, who looked pretty shocked herself. She turned to Carmilla. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“I see that.” Both their voices shook. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Hollis.”

Laura managed a fragile smile, which Carmilla couldn’t help but return. But, behind her, Theo was making moves to get back up, and she grabbed Laura before he could get to her, pulling her away. The sight of him filled her with sudden, twisting rage, and she kicked his gut herself, with vicious force. Something cracked; his arms folded beneath his weight. 

“So Lilita’s working with Vordenburg’s guys now? Answer me!”

He was struggling to speak, but lifted his head to meet her eyes. “With your defection, her interests found themselves...aligned. With a major corporation, yes. Anything else?”

“You’ve got no loyalty, Straka,” she snarled.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? You’re a failed -” he went for a final spring, but she’d seen him tense beforehand and the crowbar smashed into his temple with a satisfying crunch of gristle and bone. He went down, and she hit him again. And again. And again, until she felt arms wrap around her middle and a strong frame pulling her bodily from the carcass in front of her.

“Carmilla! Carmilla, stop! I’m here, ok, he’s down, it’s over. Please, Carmilla-” she dropped the crowbar, feeling sick. Theo’s face was unrecognizable. She turned to Laura, who was looking at her with fear in her wide eyes. A long frozen moment hung between them. Laura.

“Are you hurt?” she asked robotically. “Is your throat alright? Did he get you anywhere else-” Laura threw her arms around her. She tensed, but after a second the ringing in her ears subsided. Laura’s hands were stroking up and down her back and she returned the embrace. She was real. She was here. This was the open street, not a dank torture cave, and Laura was alive. They could make it.

Eventually, she let go. Focused not on the body behind them, but on the way out ahead. “We have to go.”

Laura nodded. “I think I know a place.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx pals, let me know ur thoughts. or just yell at me, here or @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . i'm up 4 anythin 
> 
> fun facts: I got stuck in Bitterfeld for an hour once. It was awful. Also, Dr Pong is a real place. I'm determined to try it out
> 
> (Also I can insult Halle cause i lived there #hallescherforlife)
> 
> thanks to Amber, who bullied me into giving her my pseud so she could read lesbian fanfiction on the 3 hour bus ride to the centre of Russian islam, and read this chapter b4 I posted. I know ur lurking.
> 
> see y'all soon i hope. also, i want my passport back from russian migration. one kudos = one prayer


	5. Ease My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Carmilla come to terms with the violent events at Frankfurter Tor. They find refuge - and the way forwards - from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaah i can't believe the series is over. those dumb gay kittens. my heart is healed <3 
> 
> enjoy the chapter - it's 9000 words of pretty much fluff. I need to say thanks for all your lovely reviews, too; I unfortunately don't have the time to respond to all of you at this stage in my ridiculous existence but I read and appreciate every single one.
> 
> chapter title: Ease My Mind by Hayley Kiyoko (because I'm a homosexual)

The taxi dropped them off outside a small, well kept little house in a sleepy, leafy suburb on the very outskirts of eastern Berlin. The sun was low and languid in the sky now; there was a cool breeze, soothing on their skin after the heat of the day. 

Carmilla followed Laura up the little path and let her knock on the front door. It had been painted recently. Dark green. 

It was swung open with unexpected force. “Laura!” The huge man on the other side greeted her enthusiastically, wrapping her in a tight bear hug from the moment he opened the door. “I’m so glad you called, little hottie! I had no idea you’d be in town! You hungry? Dinner’s on to cook if you can wait a little, I know I’m already starving but you know how it is, she runs it on a tight leash-”

The man just kept talking, until Laura gently extricated herself from his arms and stepped back so he could see Carmilla, stood awkwardly on the front step. “Kirsch, it’s so good to see you. Carmilla - this is Kirsch, one of my oldest friends,” she looked at him fondly, “and most annoying. Kirsch, this is my - friend, Carmilla. I hope you’ve got enough on for two guests tonight…” At Laura’s stumble, Kirsch flashed her a quick, knowing look, and Carmilla wondered if she should intervene. But it would probably be more fun to see it play out. 

Kirsch’s great big puppy eyes brightened even more, if that was possible, and he stuck out his hand to Carmilla to shake. “No problem,” he didn’t hide the interest in his gaze, “always room for another hottie around the Kirsch table!”

Carmilla left him hanging. “Huh. Never knew misogyny could be so… hospitable.”

“Carmilla!” Laura nudged her side. She flinched at the pain the thug’s knee had left; Laura’s fingers grazed her back in apology. “Play nice.”

Gingerly, she accepted Kirsch’s handshake. 

He led them inside with an expansive gesture of welcome. “Just drop off your rucksacks here, don’t stand on ceremony, I mean take your shoes off if you like. Travelling light, L?”

She shrugged, dropping off her little rucksack next to Carmilla’s giant khaki one. “You could say that.”

“Wow. You know, I always knew you were cool. Like a bro, you know? None of that fussy packing stuff, just up and off. Woah.” Kirsch nodded to himself, and led them into a cozy, homely living room with soft brown sofas and a massive, slobbering Irish setter at the hearth. The dog immediately sensed a friend in Carmilla and put its head on her lap as Kirsch continued to chat away to Laura. She stroked it absently, feeling suddenly enormously tired. The sagging couch beneath her, the warmth across her knees, was like an embrace.

They were called to dinner by a pretty, slender woman who was clearly Kirsch’s partner, and as they took their seats around the dinner table (the dog following Carmilla and lying comfortably across her feet) she knew that she would have to brace herself again for company.

“L-dog, Carmilla - this is my partner, Sarah-Jane. SJ, hun, this is my friend Laura, from school, and Carmilla.” She smiled warmly, but seemed a somewhat shy. Which was fine, as Kirsch was content to do most of the talking. “I just wasn’t expecting your phone call, L, I mean it was great, but completely, like, out of the blue, you know?” he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I mean, how long has it been?”

Laura smiled slightly. “10 years, I guess? We went back to Canada when I was 15. Feels like longer. I mean, at least I emailed sometimes though, right?”

It turned out that Kirsch had grown up with Laura on the military base down south, near Stuttgart. He’d never left Germany though, and had only kept in touch with her by email and Facebook. It only meant, Carmilla thought wearily to herself, that he’d built up 10 years’ worth of  _ talking _ to unleash in her face. 

The dog shifted under her; she was aware of it giving her puppy eyes from her knees for scraps. She stroked it instead.

But eventually Kirsch broke off his story about the pranks he’d pulled at university to turn his attention to her. “So, Carmilla?” At her guarded nod he ploughed on, “how did you meet little hottie over here? Did she try and, like, interview you or something? Hey,” he turned back to Laura with a grin, “remember when you did that to Johanna and she totally didn’t get it? Then you were too chicken to just ask her out so Matt had to-”

“Yes! I remember. Thanks, Kirsch,” Laura took a gulp of water. “Umm. Carmilla’s helping me out with some, erm, research at the minute. You know, just two girls, touring the country, getting some...interviews…” She looked desperately across to Carmilla, who couldn’t help but be tempted to spur him on.

She smirked wickedly. “Sure, pumpkin. If that’s what you’d call it. She’s a lot of fun though, Kirsch. You’ll have to tell me all the stories.”

Laura kicked her under the table. “So, Sarah-Jane? What about you and Kirsch?” 

As the voices droned on, she stared across the table, absently forking spaghetti into her mouth. Laura’s eyes were overbright; she was tired. There was a brittle quality to her smile, to her laugh. Bruises were starting to show, very slightly, around the delicate skin of her neck where Straka had grabbed her. Carmilla put down her fork, no longer hungry.

“Is the spaghetti okay, Carmilla?” Sarah-Jane asked worriedly. “I can rustle up something else if you don’t like it, it’s just -”

“It’s fine,” she cut her off, “I just - I ate a little too quickly. It’s nice,” she added weakly, seeing the concern on the brunette’s soft face. She hoped that she hadn’t noticed the mess that was her knuckles, gripping the table edge tightly.

When they’d finished, and SJ had whipped away the dishes, Kirsch looked at them eagerly. “Do you want me to show you the guest room and you can dump your stuff? Then, you know, you can chill there, or - I mean - we’ll just be watching TV or something, or we could chat some more if you’d like-”

“We’re staying the night?” Carmilla asked sharply. 

Laura gave her a warning look. “Of course. Thanks, Kirsch.” 

Kirsch’s spare room was, like every other room in the house, rather small and homely. There was a low, queen-sized bed at the centre, with room for a bookcase and wardrobe, chest of drawers and washbasin in the corner. Carmilla cracked open the window. She needed air. Her thoughts were sinking. 

Laura was thanking him profusely, and when he shut the door behind them, there was a heavy silence. Carmilla didn’t move from her spot. She could see the sun, finally, dipping below the horizon.

“Carmilla-”

“So what’s the plan, then?” her voice came out harsher than she’d meant it to. 

“We take a night to get some sleep. Then-”

“In your  _ bro’s _ house? With his girlfriend and his dog down there? What happens if they find us again, huh? Come right up to the doorstep and put a bullet in the back of their heads?” She couldn’t stop the venom; all she could see was Theo’s mangled face. “And what now? Your lead just got run down in the middle of the city, it’s gonna be weeks before Dima has gotten anything out of Belarus, if he doesn’t get shot in the process, I’ve managed to make sure the best hitmen on the continent are after us - we’ve learned nothing from all this. It’s over, Laura. We’re done.”

Finally, she turned to face her. Laura looked so small, so beaten. Her eyes were wide and unguarded. Hurt.  _ Someone else I’ve managed to damage _ , she thought humourlessly to herself. She couldn’t do this to her any more. Carmilla jumped down from the window and picked up her rucksack blindly.

“Where are you going?” Laura demanded, sounding panicked.

“Away from here.” Carmilla shoved her trusty jacket on, swung the straps over her shoulders. Avoided those big, brown eyes. “I can’t help you any more. All I do is kill people. You’d never seen a life or death fight before me. All I bring is more of that, Laura, and you deserve to be safe. You deserve better than this. Stay here. Hide from them. I’ll do what I can on my end, but you need to get far away from this case, and from me.”

“No!” Laura was suddenly in her space. She seized Carmilla’s shoulders and Carmilla, loath to hurt her, let her. “Don’t go. I need you here -they’re gonna come after me anyway. I can’t do this without backup, okay? Anyway, where are you gonna go? We’re on the middle of nowhere, it’s too late for a bus, you don’t even live in this country! Are you going to sleep under a bush or something?” Carmilla stared at her shoulder, shame burning up her face, twisting her insides. 

“Look at me.” Laura took her jaw in her hand, forced her up, to meet her gaze. “You think I don’t know the risks of this? I’m a journalist, Carmilla - don’t look at me like that. I have to find the truth. And I don’t care if people want to kill me for it. All the more reason to do it. I’m gonna keep on this path whether you’re here or not, okay? And I’ve got a hell of a better chance with you on my side.”

Looking into those eyes was overwhelming, and Carmilla’s mouth moved without her consent. “I’m not a good person, Laura. You saw what I did. To those men. I’ll do it again, when I have to. I’m a weapon. I kill people. People I don’t even know, people who probably haven’t done anything to me. And when-” she’d never talked about this, ever, it was too raw, too painful, and she was dragging it out of her, word by word, “-and when they have, when I know who they are, when I know they’re a person? I just - I fuck it up, I can’t hack it, I’m a complete fuck up, Laura-”

“Carmilla.” Laura’s other hand came up, and she took her jaw more gently in her palms, “my parents killed people. People they didn’t know. Other people have had to, as well. Police. Civilians. Kids. It - it’s not what you do, okay? It’s why you do it. And I know, I know that you’ve done it for money, but hell - you saved my life today, Carm, okay? You saved my life by doing what you did. And if our positions were reversed, I’d do the same. I will, if I need to. I don’t care about what you did before, Carmilla. I need you with me on this. We’re on the same side here, okay?”

She hesitated like that, in Laura’s hands, feeling horribly horribly vulnerable, and Laura met her steadily, unyielding. 

Behind her was the world she knew.

In front of her was Laura, and something that she didn’t. Something different to all that had come before. 

Carmilla’s eyes searched her face. They landed on the bruising now, clear to see below her jaw. “We need to do something about that,” she mumbled, “or your Neanderthal friend is going to think we’ve been having a domestic.”

Her face broke into a relieved smile. “Kirsch is too innocent for that. He’ll probably just think we’ve been getting a bit too rough-”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “I’m shocked.”

“Yes well,” Laura had flushed a brilliant magenta as soon as the words had left her mouth, “he’s hardly one for subtlety.”

“Neither are you, apparently.” They stayed like that for a second, and Carmilla found her concentration drifting, to that strong jawline and soft, inviting mouth, so close to her again - although that moment last night on her doorstep already felt like it had happened an age ago - but she snapped out of it, stepped back and rooted through her trusty rucksack for her first aid box. “Sit down by the sink. Swear I’ve got some ice packs in here.”

Laura perched on the stool at the sink and, surprisingly, let Carmilla snap an ice pack into activation and wrap it in a T shirt. “Hold it there,” she said quietly, “until I say stop. Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

Laura shook her head. “Look after yourself first. That bruise on your face is still there. And I saw him kick you in the ribs before.”

It’s not so bad,” she said lightly, but the spot was throbbing, so she snapped out another pack. The icy contact was good enough to send a moan of satisfaction through her. “Fuck.” she breathed in relief.

There was a hesitant knock at the door. Carmilla got up, pack still pressed to her side, and opened it a crack. Kirsch was stood on the other side, giving her a rather roguish grin. “Hate to interrupt, ladies, but I’ve just got some towels if you want to use the shower.”

“Great. Thanks.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she gritted her teeth, letting him pile the towels on her free hand. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh! Right. Um, sleep well. And don’t forget to use protection-” she slammed the door shut and turned to Laura, still sitting awkwardly at the sink still and reading an ancient copy of  _ Der Spiegel  _ from the drawers with avid interest.

“Why is he so convinced that we’re fucking?” Carmilla asked bluntly. The thought unnerved her. Not because Laura was unattractive. Far from it.

Laura put the magazine down. “Kirsch knew me at a very awkward time in my adolescence, okay? I don’t think he’s quite grasped the concept of growing up yet. So he thinks he has to wingman me everywhere. Still. And that if I’m spending any time with a woman, I wouldn’t possibly have anything better to do other than… well, that.”

“Hmm.” Carmilla flopped down on the end of the bed. “Well… I mean if you don’t…”  _ Why did she still have to say these things?! _

Laura turned to her so quickly that Carmilla worried for her bruised neck. Her face was flaming again. Carmilla plastered her typical smirk on her face; anything to lighten the mood.

“In Kirsch’s guest bed? No thanks.” was all she said, turning back to her magazine. 

After a few more minutes she had Laura take off the ice pack, and switched it for some neosporin gel, which she rubbed carefully onto the worst bruised skin near the veins in Laura’s neck, where Theo’s fingers had dug in harshly. Laura’s eyes were closed, and her breathing slowed under Carmilla’s fingertips, which made Carmilla feel worse about how her heart had started to race.

She went to the bathroom as Carmilla did the same to her bruised side, giving her some modesty to change. It was by unspoken consent that they each picked a side of the queen mattress, but as they slipped in and pulled up the duvet, and Laura went to turn out the light, Carmilla broke the silence. 

“Can you leave the lamp on? I don’t sleep in the dark.”

She felt pathetic. But Laura only let her squirm for a moment. “Sure.” 

They lay, carefully, on their backs. Carmilla was afraid to move; afraid to touch. She could feel Laura’s hesitation, so close to her. 

“What is it, Laura?”

“What if I told you that we do have a lead. That Nazneen left me a voicemail before we were going to meet her. She told me…”

“What, Laura? She told you what?”

“It’s all in London. The documents, the files. They moved the records out there when she handed in her notice. To try and keep them hidden.”

_ Why am I only hearing about this now?  _

But Carmilla didn’t want to get into that. Besides, there was a much more pressing question to be addressed first.

“How the  _ hell  _ are we going to get to London?”    

-o-

Carmilla jerked awake with a crawling sense of terror.

The room was unfamiliar - the light from the lamp seemed sickly and artificial in comparison to the morning sun streaming in. She rolled over, feeling grimy and chilled from the sweat coating her skin. 

The other side of the bed was empty. 

Carmilla flopped back onto the pillow. Memories of last night began to trickle back into her head. Kirsch’s house. The argument - London. They were going to London. Somehow. 

Laura must be downstairs. Her bag was nowhere to be seen.

Carmilla stripped off her sodden tank top and boxer shorts quickly, and wrapped herself in one of the towels Kirsch had left last night. 

She took her time in the bathroom. The night terrors were coming back again. It must be something about being on the move, she thought with resignation. Always focused on the same thing - always on what happened, four years ago, in a dark warren of caves, far from home. And, sometimes, with the added bonus of Ell. 

Her skin was red raw by the time she’d gotten out of the shower.

She came downstairs to the sound of familiar voices. Laura was in the kitchen with Kirsch, talking jovially about someone she didn’t know. Abruptly, she interrupted their conversation. 

“Anyone got any coffee in this place?”

“Sure!” Kirsch quickly went to the machine on the counter. “Sleep well, Carm-hottie?”

She took the mug he offered. Black, no sugar. Perfect. “Don’t call me that if you value your ability to walk.”

He laughed nervously, and backed off to the safety of a hot frying pan, cooking bacon by the inviting smell. 

“Did you sleep well?” Laura asked quietly. There was a slight look of concern on her face, which Carmilla decided she didn’t like.

“Fine,” she replied stiffly. 

Laura studied her for a second longer, but turned back to help Kirsch with his fry-up.

Laura had an easy camaraderie with him, which Carmilla hadn’t expected. Now that his partner was gone, she seemed to have let her guard down entirely. She was quick to laugh, and teased Kirsch with a sister’s familiarity. 

Carmilla couldn’t look away. She couldn’t remember ever experiencing something similar. It made a curious feeling of emptiness rattle in her chest. She drained her hot coffee.

Around a breakfast of bacon and eggs, Kirsch fixed them both with a curious look. “So. What’s the plan today, cu - ladies? I could show you around, or-”

“Don’t you have a job to go to?” Carmilla muttered, just low enough to be out of Laura’s earshot. 

“We really appreciate it Kirsch, but, well, we’re going to make tracks, to be honest. News never sleeps, you know?” Laura laughed a little.

“One night!” Kirsch whistled low. “You weren’t kidding, were you?” 

“You know we’d stay longer if we could.” Carmilla fixed her with an incredulous look, and received a kick under the table. “There is something actually, that would really help us out. I know you were always really into your cars…”

Kirsch’s expression was full of innocent curiosity.

“Do you have a car we could borrow?” Laura asked in a rush.

Kirsch rubbed at the back of his neck. “Where are you gonna go with it, L?”

Carmilla twitched.

“Erm. It’s kinda a secret. International?”

“And, I mean, you’re both okay to drive?”

“Yeah!” Laura glanced at her quickly. Carmilla gave the tiniest nod. “Yeah, we can both drive. I promise we’ll look after it!”

“And it’s nothing, like, illegal, or anything?” He asked nervously. “I still remember that time you got me to-” 

“Yep!” Laura squeaked, “completely above board. Just, you know, we’ve been getting the train everywhere but it’s not really gonna cut it now so...wheels would be good.”

“Can we go back to that time you got him to do something illegal again?” Carmilla asked loudly.

Laura ignored her. 

Kirsch rubbed at his beefy neck again - a nervous habit, clearly - and sighed. “SJ’s gonna kill me,” he muttered. “Come on, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

Outside, the morning was already hot. Carmilla was glad she’d forgone the leather pants. Kirsch swung open his garage door to reveal a sleek red Audi, built for speed as well as style. 

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. “We’ll take it, Obelix,” she grinned, going to peer at what was probably a gorgeous, state of the art interior. 

Kirsch coughed. “That’s, er, my car, Carmilla. The one you guys could take is behind it, there.” 

She hadn’t even noticed the vehicle lurking behind Kirsch’s showroom ready Audi. It was an ancient Opel Omega, probably as old as her, with a blocky, crude look to it and an unfortunate paint job in dull olive green. Next to the Audi, it looked disfigured. 

Carmilla’s heart sank. “Whoopee,” she said flatly. “I knew it’d been too long since my teenage joyriding phase.”

“Carm.” Laura smacked her lightly on the arm. “Thanks Kirsch! We’ll be sure to bring it back to you.”

Kirsch moved his car to let Laura hop in and reverse the Opel onto the street.

Carmilla appraised it. “Been serviced?” 

“About eighteen months ago. No problems with it, though.”

“That’s when you last took it out?”

“I take it out like once every couple of months. Just to check it’s running.” Kirsch answered nervously.

“Oil level?”

“Fine.”

“Tires? They’re not winter ones.” 

“They’ve been on a few years, but they aren’t too worn.” 

Reluctantly, she concluded that there was nothing wrong with the car aside from its entire existence. “Great. Can’t wait for us to be stopped and asked for some crack in this.”

“Good to go?” Laura hopped out of the driver’s side.

“It felt okay to you?” Carmilla asked. Laura nodded. “Guess so. Lucky us. I’ll grab our bags, if you want to do your whole,” she waved a hand vaguely, “goodbye thing.”

She took her time coming back. Kirsch’s house was full of souvenirs, photos in frames, moments he’d captured with a shot or with an ornament. It was homely. She was, she had to admit, a little sorry to leave its warm embrace. 

On one of the coffee tables was a picture featuring a familiar face. It was Laura, still dwarfed next to Kirsch, with her arms around his middle and a huge smile on her face. She recognised Tübingen in the background, a quaint university city about an hour south of Stuttgart. But she was more focussed on Laura’s round, childish features; the unrestrained happiness bursting out of her small frame. She couldn’t have been more than 15.

Carmilla felt like a voyeur, and made her way abruptly out of the house.

Laura and Kirsch were talking earnestly. She treaded lightly up to them. 

“-seems a bit… brusque. But honestly, Kirsch, I don’t know where I’d be without her - Carmilla!”

She held up the bags, deciding to ignore that. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Sure. Load them up!”  

Once that was done and she had no more excuses to hide her head in the boot, Carmilla turned to Kirsch. Laura had hugged him, hard, as she’d dumped their bags, and said her last words to him. Then she jumped in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio and giving Carmilla a moment to swallow her pride.

“Umm, thanks. For letting us stay, and the car, and stuff. It was nice.” She almost managed to sound convincing.

Kirsch grinned, and suddenly wrapped her in a bear hug. “‘S alright, Carm-”

“ _ Carmilla _ ,” she ground out, feeling wildly uncomfortable.

“-any friend of little Laura’s is a friend of mine. And if you’re more than a friend-”

“Oh,  _ Christus _ ,” she muttered.

Kirsch pulled back and looked at her, seriously. “Look after her. If you do anything to hurt her, I’ll not forget it.”

“Yep. Got it, rump steak,” she said, patting his shoulder.

“I mean it.” Kirsch continued, not letting her go. “Laura’s like me. She’d walk through fire for people she cares about. Make sure she doesn’t have to, for you.”

Carmilla nodded, unsure how to respond. Laura revved the engine. “Are you dumping me for Kirsch, Carmilla?”

“He wishes,” she grumbled, and tore herself out of his weird half embrace to jump in the passenger seat. Kirsch waved a hand in goodbye as they turned the corner, out of his sleepy little suburb, and back onto the chaos of the open road.

* * *

 

“So.. London!” 

35 minutes. That’s how long Laura had managed without speaking. Not bad, for her.

“I hate London,” Carmilla muttered, glaring out of the windscreen at the wide open road.

Laura shot her a look of disbelief, which she pretended not to notice. “Come on, Carmilla, everyone says London is amazing! How could it possibly offend you so much?”

“You’ve never been?” Laura shook her head ruefully. “Well, it’s an incredibly crowded, polluted city, where everything is expensive, everywhere worth going to is ludicrously far away from everything else, and all the people are self-important, arrogant snobs,” she said. “And if it’s not rainy and freezing, it’s disgustingly humid and so as a result you get to see the entire population of England taking their tops off and getting drunk in the streets. It’s honestly pathetic.”

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” Laura teased. “It’s that bad, huh?”

“Insufferable. Have I just destroyed all your hopes and dreams, cupcake?” she drawled.

“Hardly. I don’t think you’ve ever said anything nice about anything, Karnstein.”

Carmilla had to give her that one.    
  
“But seriously - what’s it like?”

“I just told you. No, seriously,” Carmilla insisted in response to the withering look, “I mean there can be a nice buzz around the place, and it’s got some gorgeous museums, but it’s just a massive tourist trap really. Sorry to disappoint.” Carmilla lowered her sunglasses and looked across at Laura, in the driver’s seat with a frown of concentration on her face. They changed lanes. “So what  _ did  _ your dead whistleblower tell you over the phone anyway? You never told me properly.”

Laura blanched. “Can we not use the d-word, please? I can’t believe that happened yesterday. I mean, one minute she’s there, the next…” She fell silent; Carmilla saw how her knuckles went white on the steering wheel. She was reminded of how frail their normality was right now.

When a few heavy moments had passed, she touched Laura’s shoulder a little awkwardly, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it either. We couldn’t have done anything, alright? If we’d been close enough to help, we would have died.” Laura sniffed, nodded. She glanced gratefully at Carmilla before turning back to the road, and Carmilla was reminded of something else she’d wanted to bring up. “But... maybe you should get rid of your phone. If that’s how they found her, it could lead them straight back to us.”

Laura gave her a sharp look at the suggestion. “I never thought of that. Do you think-”

“Maybe. They got to her somehow. And they knew we were there too. That she was in contact with us.”

Laura pulled the blocky phone from her pocket. “No messages anyway.” She seemed to steel herself for a moment; then Carmilla watched in some surprise as she wound down her window and threw the phone onto the busy autobahn beneath their wheels.

“There’s no messing around with you, is there?”

“Things have been put in perspective over the last few days,” she replied calmly, cranking the window back up and shutting out the roar of traffic. 

In front of them, a heavy goods lorry swung out to the left lane and Laura sighed.

“So, your voicemail?” Carmilla prompted.

“Yeah. I picked it up when I tried to call her. She sounded nervous, I don’t know. But she told me that if we couldn’t meet, then there was still hope. They’re pathological filers. When they realised she was resigning out of conscience, she reckoned they started to cover their tracks. Massive amounts of documentation were getting moved and when she did some digging, it was pretty obvious they were going over the channel - to London.”

Carmilla nodded, staring at the passing cars. “And you’re only telling me this now because…?”

Laura tensed behind the wheel. “It was hardly the first thing on my mind after you pounded that guy into the floor with a crowbar.”

She winced. “Don’t remind me.” She’d known Theo for years. Now he was dead. Another person she’d once considered a friend. Another bond that she’d violently severed.

There was another silence. “Sorry,” Laura muttered. “Did you know him well?”

Carmilla clenched her fists, resting on her thighs. “As well as you know anyone in this business, yeah. We worked together occasionally. And he was an asshole, I know, and probably a sadist, but…” she didn’t want to talk about this. She rolled down the window and pulled her cigarettes from her jacket. 

“Oh, you cannot be serious right now Carmilla!”

“What, you want one?” she mumbled around the cigarette, fiddling with her lighter. The whipping wind was making it a pig to light.

“ _ No _ , thank you.” 

“Suit yourself.” That ended the conversation. Carmilla let her hair tousle loosely as she accepted the calm that the nicotine offered.

Laura fiddled with the radio and found some pop channel blaring out one manufactured hit after the next. Carmilla relaxed back into her seat. Occasionally a song would come on that Laura would recognize, and she’d hum tunelessly along. On a select few she sang, much to Carmilla’s horror. Worst of all, though, was when a song came on that she assumed that Carmilla was “bound to know” and the latter would have to endure Laura’s repeated demands that she join in, too. Once or twice, she submitted, and Laura rolled her eyes at Carmilla’s flat, unenthusiastic drone.

When  _ Atemlos _ came on, she changed the station.

Present company aside, Carmilla couldn’t help but start to enjoy the journey; the wide open road ahead, the fields whipping past on either side, the promise of freedom over the next hill. It had always allowed her to feel powerful, and to indulge the dream of independence. 

To dare to believe, for a few short hours at least, that she was entirely free. 

Next to her, Laura began to hum along to the next song a  _ Revolverheld  _ anthem, and Carmilla felt a smile tugging at her features. An unfamiliar sensation. Maybe present company wasn’t so bad after all. 

They stopped for lunch in a little cafe somewhere outside of Hannover. Carmilla got out and stretched, letting out a groan of appreciation at the tug in her back and shoulders. For a second the sun kissed the pale skin of her stomach. 

Laura was staring at her. “Take a picture, cupcake,” she smirked, pushing past her towards the diner, “it’ll last longer.” She pretended her heart hadn’t sped up at the sight of Laura’s plump lip, caught between white teeth. 

They took their time over lunch. Since Laura had gotten rid of her phone, Carmilla had been breathing easier, taking in the open road. The chances of being pursued now were surely incredibly slim. 

Still, when the waiter stared openly at Laura opposite her, and asked them where their holiday was taking them, Carmilla felt her hackles go up. “Are you gonna get our drinks or was that whole service routine just for fun?” She snapped at him, interrupting his attempt to be witty with them.

He scurried off, and Laura gave her a Look. Carmilla was pretty used to it by now, and stared blandly back at her. 

“Do you enjoy being an asshole, Carmilla, or what?” she asked, switching back to English. 

“Do I have to remind you who we’re running from, Laura? He could have been anyone,” she replied snappily, returning her attention to the menu in front of her. 

“Oh yeah, because he totally got himself hired on this shift, knowing exactly when we’d come in, which we decided about twenty minutes ago by the way, and started making harmless small talk with the intention of killing us,” she rolled her eyes. 

“He was totally trying to charm information out of you,” she muttered, starting to feel stupid. 

“He’s a waiter! It’s his job to be nice! It’s just a bit of harmless flirting anyway, he’s a  _ boy _ , for pity’s sake…” Laura slapped down her menu and fixed Carmilla with a shit-eating grin. “Are you jealous, Carm?”

“Jealous?” she said heatedly, returning Laura’s gaze and feeling the angry flush on her face, “why the hell would I be jealous of some smarmy kid who probably hasn’t learned to shave yet, just because he gets a smile and a laugh from  _ you _ ?”  

“Oh,” Laura deflated. She paused for a moment and Carmilla felt a flash of panic. “I thought you were jealous of me. Getting all the attention.”

Carmilla was hit by a lurching feeling; sort of like when she missed a step from running too fast. She fumbled for a response. “Whatever. Same shit really, isn’t it?”

The waiter came back over with their drinks. Carmilla’s was dumped unceremoniously in front of her, whilst he placed Laura’s almost reverently on the table with a small smile of apology. Carmilla’s fists clenched. 

Laura ordered for both of them, but Carmilla wasn’t paying attention. She sort of wanted to be back on the road again. 

“I wouldn’t have thought that badass Carmilla Karnstein knew most of the words to  _ Style _ ,” Laura broke the uneasy silence that had settled between them. 

Carmilla swallowed her mouthful slowly. “It’s been all over the radio for months. I’d have to have been pretty slow not to pick it up.”

Laura made a hum of scepticism. “It’s okay to like Taylor, you know. She’s got some tunes.”

Carmilla fixed her with a glare.

“You can give me that look all you like, I’m still never gonna forget that little head bob you did at the chorus when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

She felt a reluctant little smile spread across her cheeks. “I think you need to lay off the coffee, I did nothing of the sort. And if you tell anyone I did, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Oooh, scary. You wouldn’t kill me.”

“I literally kill people as a full time job, you irritating child.”

“What, were you on break when it was my turn or something?”

“‘I am Death, trod under a fair maid’s feet,’” she smirked, her voice dropping a register.

Laura snorted, looking back to her chicken salad. “No, you’re not.”

When the waiter came back with the bill, Laura barely glanced at him. She did slap down thirty euro before Carmilla could even get to her wallet, smirking all the while. “My turn to pay, sweetcheeks,” she husked out, and the poor boy looked between them, mortified. Carmilla narrowed her eyes at her.

“Insisting on paying for dates is an outdated patriarchal condition that serves primarily to establish power dynamics within a heteronormative relationship,” she said outside, around her cigarette.

“Unless you do it, I suppose,” Laura grinned. “And was that a date? You could have picked somewhere more romantic.” She got back in the driver’s seat, leaving Carmilla to finish her smoke alone. Carmilla scowled. She was incredibly infuriating.

They switched drivers near the Dutch border, and Carmilla snickered at the fact that the seat was pushed as far forwards as it would go. 

“You’re, like, an inch taller than me, Carmilla.” Laura said. “Settle down.”

Carmilla promptly made a grand show of shunting the seat back a notch. Laura rolled her eyes.

By the time they actually made it to the border, Carmilla was ready to ditch the Opel and walk. “I swear, this thing handles like a cow on ice,” she snapped, wrenching the steering wheel with a little more force than necessary and letting the back end kick over the white lines. 

“If you can’t manage it, I can always take over,” Laura said sweetly. 

“You shut up and manage this border guard,” Carmilla replied, as they crawled up to the little huts marking the edge of the Netherlands. Security had been bulked up recently; normally they’d be free to drive over the border unchecked. Carmilla really hoped that this wouldn’t flag them up to Lilita Morgan’s assassins.

Carmilla handed over her German passport and license; Laura handed her a German passport to give too. A cursory look - and they were through. Carmilla took off quickly. 

Laura looked with interest at her documents. “You’re not German. And your name isn’t Carmilla Eisen.”

“Neither are you,” Carmilla pointed out.

“I was born there, though. My passport is real.”

“So’s mine.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re welcome.”

Laura sighed, and changed the subject, sliding Carmilla’s things onto her lap. She turned the radio off. “Do we have a plan for London?”

“Other than going to their office and asking how they like poisoning Eastern Europe, you mean?”

“Be serious,” Laura said. 

“Well,” Carmilla drummed her fingers against the wheel, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to storm in there all guns blazing, so to speak. We should find a way in that doesn’t arouse any suspicion. So we have the time to find what we need.”

“What would you do if you had to arrange a hit there?” Laura asked. 

“I’d be unlikely to do it in someone’s office,” Carmilla said lightly, “but if I had to… I’d find a legitimate way to be in there. Not under my own name, obviously. Hide in a uniform or a role. Go as a cleaner or someone. Of course, cleaner is difficult, because you still can’t go particularly far alone. And member of staff is tricky if no one recognises you.” She mulled it over in her head, speeding down the left-hand lane just a little faster than Laura had been. 

“What about going in as staff from somewhere else?” Laura asked slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“My friend - Danny,” Laura elaborated, “she was involved in a legal case against VPI in London. She’ll know which legal firm they use. They’ll trust their lawyers, surely, with plenty of sensitive information. I could pose as a lawyer, get in there and just ask.”

“That,” Carmilla overtook a caravan, pushing the Opel up to 95, “is an incredibly reckless plan.”

“I mean sure, it could do with some fine-tuning. But it’s a start!”

“We could just break in after dark,” Carmilla pointed out. 

“No way. I did that last time I was on a case,” Laura sounded pretty exhilarated just thinking about it, “and these places have tighter security than you’d think.”

“I’m gonna regret asking, but what did you do?” 

Laura told her. Last year, while researching the devastating impact of governmental corruption in human trafficking, she’d broken into government offices and, with the help of a friend, hacked a whole bunch of private computer accounts.

“It was all going great until the police turned up. I’d activated some kind of silent alarm on my way in without realising, so I had to get out of there before they could arrest me or whatever. I think I almost broke my ankle jumping out of a first floor window into a rhododendron bed, but it was fine in the end. They never caught me. And what I found was watertight. They were going down thanks to it.”

Carmilla, despite herself, was impressed. “And here I thought you wouldn’t even cross the road without the green man telling you it was okay first.”

“All’s fair in investigative journalism and proving your elected officials are lying, disgusting snakes.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes,” she chuckled. 

“Love, war, politics?” Laura shrugged. “Might as well be.”

“And you said _ I  _ wasn’t romantic.”

Laura grinned at her, and she found herself smiling back at the life in her eyes; the energy she exuded even while sat and belted in an ancient car. 

The tires bumped over white lines and Carmilla returned her attention to the road. Laura cleared her throat. 

Carmilla turned the radio back on and turned it to low.

She was navigating heavy traffic a little later, all charm in the road trip thoroughly lost thanks to the harsh red glare of taillights ahead of her, when a sniffle alerted her to the fact that Laura had fallen asleep.

Carmilla bit back the curse that had been building in her throat.

As she rolled to a halt again behind some idiot who kept going too hard and braking too abruptly with every inch of movement, Carmilla couldn’t help but steal a glance at the girl next to her.

She’d known from the start that Laura was beautiful. But it was now, with her sprawled in the passenger seat and completely in her own world, that Carmilla let herself actually acknowledge it. It wasn’t a distant thing, caught on the grainy blown up photographs that had littered her apartment in the days running up to her ill-fated visit to Laura’s apartment; rather, it was in the energy behind every vivid movement of hers; the huge innocent eyes that could turn to steel in a flash; the soft features concealing a strength and confidence that Carmilla hadn’t expected. She was  _ exciting _ like that. 

Carmilla stopped her thoughts right there. The traffic lurched onwards. She focused back on the road.

She needed a drink.

-o-

She’d found a coffee place off the highway and rolled the car out of the bustle of three lane traffic. It was starting to look a little dusky; her energy levels were down and she needed a break from the road. As its dull roar subsided, however, another sound sent a shiver of alarm down Carmilla’s spine. 

Laura was whining; moaning in her sleep.

She’d done this forty minutes back, as they were just passing into Belgium, but that had been the absent shifting of a dream. It had been almost comedic, and Carmilla had wished she still had her phone, to record it and annoy her with later. This was the sound of a nightmare - a distress signal that Carmilla was all too familiar with.

She jammed the car into the first parking space she saw, and turned back to Laura, who was beginning to thrash and panic in her sleep. Her mouth spat out half formed words and Carmilla felt the horrible helpless empathy roll in her stomach. “No...No! He…”

“Laura.” Carmilla didn’t want to startle her, crumpled up and panicking at what her own mind was showing her. “Laura!” She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned across, seizing the smaller girl’s shoulders. “Hey!”

She couldn’t keep her voice down. Laura’s big eyes jerked open, full of fear, and latched onto hers. Carmilla couldn’t look away. The only sound was their thundering hearts.

Carmilla,” she gasped out, her hands darting out and grabbing at her arms. 

“You’re alright, you’re okay,” Carmilla said mindlessly, beginning to rub her hands up and down Laura’s biceps. She was sweating under her palms. “You’re here, with me. Just us. We’re fine.”

Laura’s lip trembled for a second, and Carmilla felt something snap in her chest. Then, unexpectedly, Laura unbuckled her seatbelt and melted into Carmilla’s open arms, pressing her small frame as close to her as she could. Her hands fisted in the material of Carmilla’s shirt, exposing her back to the cool air.

Carmilla wrapped her arms tightly around her, rubbed her back softly. She was shaking, tiny and frail and horribly transient against Carmilla’s body. 

The gearstick was digging uncomfortably into her hip. She tugged Laura over towards her, hoping she’d get the hint. Laura did; she clambered over and settled on her lap, sucking in heaving, irregular breaths against Carmilla’s neck as though she feared drowning. Carmilla ran a hand through Laura’s hair, trying to reassure her. She hoped she was doing it right. She hadn’t held someone like this in the longest time.

Eventually, Laura’s breaths quietened; her fists loosened their tight grip against Carmilla’s back. “I - I’m sorry,” she murmured, trying to pull away. 

Carmilla only let her go as far as she needed to see her face. “Hey. Don’t be sorry.” She hesitated, studying Laura’s watery, uncertain eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I -” Laura wiped at her eyes with her jacket sleeve, “I’m okay. It’s fine. I just need to calm down.”

One of Carmilla’s hands was still in her hair; out of reflex, she smoothed the blonde strands out Laura’s eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s okay. I was just going to get some coffee. Do you want something? I can bring it out here and we can just sit if you want.”

Laura managed a watery smile. “Could you get me some hot chocolate?” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” she murmured, slipping out of the seat. “Put the radio on, I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

Out of the car, in the cool evening air, Carmilla had to take a moment. Laura was strong, certain. That shivering shell behind her - that wasn’t Laura. For the first time, she felt real fear settle in her belly. Not adrenaline, not survival - not the usual mix of anxiety and apathy in which she lived her pathetic existence. 

She could do with another cigarette. 

She couldn’t come back quick enough, the two disposable cups clutched in her hands and burning through the polystyrene. Laura had put the light on; she was hunched over and clutching onto her arms, as though she feared falling apart. Carmilla knocked with her elbow on the window. She jerked, but opened the door for her. 

Carmilla slipped in next to her. Right next to her; Laura hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat. It was good, she found herself thinking, that they were both so slight. The air between them was heavy. She reached over her to flick open the CD holder in the central console to reveal a couple of cupholders. “That’s the good thing about this shitbox car,” she found herself joking softly, “I don’t know how many cups they thought we were meant to have in the eighties.”

Laura managed a slight smile. 

“I got some cookies,” Carmilla tried. “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so…” she shook the carrier bag off her arm and dived in, pulling out three different packets of various chocolate confectionaries. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Carmilla Karnstein,” Laura said, but her eyes began to smile again. She sat for a moment, just looking at her, then leaned in against her. Carmilla stiffened, but remembered herself after a second and wrapped her arm around Laura’s shoulders, just letting her relax. 

Laura opened the double chocolate cookies first. “You want one?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carmilla murmured, and took one from the pack she offered.They stayed like that, not really talking, munching on the sweets and taking sips of their drinks, for some time. The sun set, and the dark crept up against the windows. Carmilla ran her fingers in circles against Laura’s bicep.

She drained the bitter black coffee from her cup. It was starting to take effect.

Laura sat up a little. “Can I… Can we talk about it now?”

“Sure,” she replied, not without trepidation. She wasn’t much of a talker. Laura’s intensity of emotions already scared her, in the three days they’d known each other.

Laura was silent for an agonizingly long time. “How many people have you seen die?”

_ Oh no _ . “A lot,” she answered truthfully. 

“How old were you - the first time?”

Carmilla wished she didn’t remember. Blood on the sand, and a rifle in her hands. “2007. I was nineteen.”

“What about when you killed?”

“The same year.”  _ The same place. The same day _ . The foreign sun still burned ruthlessly into her eyes.

Laura nodded. Her face worked, trying to contain what was beneath the surface.

“Laura-”

“Did it feel like this?” her voice broke over the words; she turned her head away, tried to pull away.

Carmilla wanted to lie. Tell her to snap out of it, to pull herself together, that she didn’t know them living so what did it matter now that they weren’t. She couldn’t.

“Yes,” she whispered, “it felt like this. It always does.”

Theo was the last of a long line of bodies she’d left in her wake. A bloody trail defining her adulthood, one that would never end. He was Laura’s first. 

She felt sick. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. That you had to see that. I never wanted this to happen to you.”

Laura looked up at her. “Not even when you were in my apartment to kill me?” 

“You weren’t you then,” she sighed, disgusted with herself. “You were a name. A target. 80 000 euro with a face.” 

Laura had sat up now. She was only touching Carmilla where their thighs met on the narrow seat. “Why do you do this, Carmilla? You’re not a killer.”

“I am. What part of that do you still not understand?” The constant impotent rage flared in her chest - that defensive need to lash out.

“No -” Laura was shaking her head, “you kill. But you hate it. It’s not who you are. Why did your friends turn on you so fast? That man called you a failure. 

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Helped someone?” There was a ringing in Carmilla’s ears. Laura’s hand brushed her thigh. “Tell me, Carmilla. I need to know. I need to know - that it’s not just death, that follows you around. That there’s hope, too.”

Carmilla wanted to run, or fight, or scream, or curl up in a ball and wait for oblivion to snatch away the memories. “There’s no hope in that story, Laura,” she murmured, finding herself slipping back into her native language, “there’s no happy ending in it.”

“Tell me,” she breathed.

“Elisabeth van Zwanenberg.” Carmilla hadn’t said the name in so long. “You remember that case, three years ago? She was killed in a back alley, a robbery gone wrong? Her famous father - destroyed by it?”

Laura nodded. 

“That was my job. I hadn’t been with the Dean long. She gave me this one, to see what I’d do with it. You understand, it was nothing to do with her - with Ell. It was a message to her father. Kill her in a way that he couldn’t misinterpret. A threat to him.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“No,” Carmilla let out a humourless bark of laughter, because all the memories were coming back now, and she didn’t want to see them. “I had a plan. Van Zwanenberg is a conservative man. He took pride in his lineage, his heritage, even if his title didn’t exist any more. His daughter was more lukewarm to the whole thing. She had a rebellious streak, all right.” She ran a hand through her hair. “My job was to pose as a student at her university. Get to know her. Seduce her. And kill her, in her own home, with no one else knowing I existed. And leave her body in her bed for her father to find.”

“What happened?”

“What the  _ fuck  _ do you think happened, Laura? I fell in love with her.” 

That sounded too simple, too curt. Carmilla’s head was flooded with the images she’d locked away. The weeks that became months. The physical pleasure that she had submitted to becoming something huge, and unspeakable, and absolutely terrifying. Ell’s arms around her, holding her through the nightmares and the secrets and the twisting, burning guilt.

Through it, she felt Laura’s grip on her thigh. Her sigh of sympathy. And the floodgates opened. “I must have been mad. I thought there was a way out. That we could just - walk away. That if I wished hard enough, all of it would stop. Of course, it didn’t. I could only keep lying for so long. Lilita - my boss - she was furious. She found Ell and told her - told her everything. She confronted me about it and the way she  _ looked  _ at me - like I was a monster. And she ran,” Carmilla wiped roughly at the treacherous tear that had leaked from her eye, “she ran, and Theo Straka was following her, and I found them in that back alley, his hand around her neck -” the irony struck her just like his cruel laughter had, back then, “like with you. But she couldn’t get out. And he killed her, right in front of me. And just like that, it was over.

“They brought me back in. Lilita gave me a second chance. I didn’t have any other options. So I went back to them.” Carmilla felt suddenly drained. “There’s never been any hope for me, sweetheart.” She ran out of words, and flopped back against the seat. 

Laura traced soft patterns on her thigh. “I don’t see someone hopeless,” she said quietly.

“Yeah? Then what do you see?”

Laura took her hand. “I see someone brave, Carmilla. You’re good. You’re trying, even after what happened then.”

She just shook her head, feeling horribly vulnerable and horribly twisted around, like down had become up outside of the tiny sanctuary of the car.

“If you aren’t, then why do you keep saving my life?”

Carmilla, despite herself, cracked a slight smile. “Because I don’t have any other friends.”

Laura smiled back. “Are you saying we’re friends now?”

The lump in her throat prevented Carmilla from answering. Laura wasn’t looking at her like she was a monster. Her eyes were still warm. 

“Come here,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms tight around Carmilla again. It only took a moment for her to return the embrace. She didn’t want to let go.

“I thought I was meant to be comforting you,” she muttered against Laura’s shoulder.

“Not such a badass now, are you?” Laura teased in response. “Carmilla Karnstein: knows all the words to  _ Style _ and is a sucker for hugs.”

“No one will ever believe you.”

Eventually, Laura pulled away. “Do you want me to drive?”

Carmilla shook her head. “I just had a load of coffee. Plus I drive faster than you. I’d quite like to get to London without pulling an all-nighter.”

“Whatever,” she grinned, and hesitated a moment before scooching back to her own side of the car. The cool air hitting Carmilla where Laura had been was not a welcome sensation. She started the engine.

“Carmilla?” Laura had been staring out into the night, but she turned back to her. “Thank you. For telling me about her. It can’t have been easy.”

Carmilla swallowed, nodded. She didn’t feel how she thought she would. The emptiness was almost a relief - like a balled up knot, heavy in her chest, that had untangled and smoothed itself out. She was still breathing. She flicked on the headlights and pulled out of the quiet car park, her focus back on the road again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . yell at me about hollstein. or other stuff. i'm not fussy.
> 
> thanks again for reading pals


	6. She's Sowing Seeds...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another city, another cunning plan. Another six-foot tall spanner in the works. Can someone give Carmilla a break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Supergirl - Anna Naklab.  
> (I just watched the video and it was great and the two girls were having the time of their lives but then it got Ominously Heterosexual towards the end :/// )

Carmilla watched as Laura stood at the payphone outside, waiting for a response.

She glanced at her watch; it was past midnight, she’d been driving since 4pm, and now Laura was apparently going to get them more free digs by introducing her to her dear friend, Danny the lawyer. Carmilla was beginning to feel like an overwhelmed girlfriend being dragged along to family visits at Christmas.

The physical exhaustion wasn’t a problem; she’d had far worse. It was the emotional strain that she was feeling. Fifteen hours cooped in a car with Laura - dealing with Laura’s wildly intense emotions and nightmares - revealing parts of herself she’d never wanted anyone to know - it was close to being too much. Carmilla glanced at Laura again, who was talking animatedly down the line. Danny must have picked up. So she undid her seatbelt and stepped out into the cool English night for a cigarette.

And that was another thing - she never wanted to drive through the channel tunnel again. Staggering bureaucracy combined with the boxy, enclosed feeling of the transporter had frayed her temper almost to breaking point. The thought of all that water above her head had not been a happy one.

Carmilla flicked away the butt of her cigarette. She could do with a drink.

Laura bounced back to her. “Okay. We need to get to Clapham? And she’s given me her postcode so we can find her house.”

“Back in we go,” Carmilla sighed. In the car, they pulled up the map that they’d bought on the way. That was something else that was grating - since they’d both discarded their phones, everything had to be done the old-fashioned way.

It was still incredibly busy, even so late. Carmilla revved the ancient Opel’s engine impatiently. It took another 40 minutes to crawl through South London and to the postcode that Danny had indicated - had Carmilla listened to Laura it would have taken even longer.

“Huh. Could have sworn that we should have taken the second entrance down there.”

“That takes you west,” Carmilla snapped. “We’re heading straight north.”

Laura raised her hands in supplication. “Just saying. Do you see any signs for Battersea up here?”

“Yes. Look ahead of you.”

She deflated. “Oh. Maybe this way works too.”

Carmilla shook her head.

Eventually, she brought the car to a stop outside a tall, 19th century apartment block. There was nowhere to park. Carmilla cursed, before she swung the car around and stuck it on some double red lines opposite the building.

Laura rang the buzzer. The response came almost instantly.

“Laura?”

“Hey Danny! Can you let us up?”

She buzzed them through.

In silence, they ascended the wide staircase and knocked on number 12B. There was a neat name plate to the side - “D. Lawrence”. Carmilla wondered what sort of person would take in unexpected guests at one in the morning - especially when one of them was Laura Hollis.

A suspicion snaked its way into the back of her mind.

The door swung open. Carmilla’s first impression was that Danny Lawrence was extremely tall. Her eyeline was at somewhere around the other woman’s collarbone.

She had long, red hair, a slender, athletic frame under a light blue bathrobe - and an extremely unamused expression on her face. “Laura. Come on in.” She glanced at Carmilla to Laura’s right. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

Laura sat gingerly on the off-white couch in Danny’s small, minimalist living room. Carmilla settled next to her and closed her eyes, finally able to disconnect from the sensation of pedals under her feet.

Laura shifted. “Thanks, Danny. We appreciate it.”

Danny didn’t respond, evidently waiting for an explanation. Carmilla, even without looking at her face, could picture that sour-milk expression. She decided she didn’t like her.

“So. You know that whole sketchy deal going on out east when we were there, with VPI and stuff? We kind of… thought we’d investigate.”

“Laura. I told you to leave that alone.”

“I know you did. But the evidence was too much to ignore, and it’s getting weirder practically by the minute. We’re really onto something here.” She fell silent, clearly uncomfortable under the other woman’s silent disapproval.

“Who’s your friend? You didn’t tell me you were with someone.”

“Oh. This is Carmilla. She’s helping me out.”

She felt the prickling on her skin which came with being watched. “She looks...rough.”

“She,” replied Carmilla, without opening her eyes, “has had one hell of a week. I’d like to see what you’d look like if you’d been through what we have, beanstalk.”

“Anyway!” Laura intervened; Carmilla restrained the smirk threatening to spread over her cheeks. “The trail leads here. But we need a good night’s sleep. And a shower.”

“And a strong drink.” Carmilla offered. “I hope you don’t mind that we stuck our car on the street outside.”

“You did _not._ ”

“Hey, I’d been driving that shitbox for about six hours too long. I wasn’t feeling fussy.”

“That’s illegal!” Danny snapped. “You’d better go down and move it now.”

“I wish it was the most illegal thing we’ve done this week, I really do,” she sighed, making no effort to move.

“Carmilla.” Finally, she opened her eyes. Laura was looking at her imploringly.

There was no need for _that_. “Fine.” With difficulty, Carmilla stood back up. The couch was more comfortable than someone as wound up as Danny deserved. “You want to come with me, Lawrence, show me where I can stick it?”

“I can take it,” Laura offered.

“No,” Danny said quickly, “you stay up here. Use my shower if you like, it’s the door on the left in the hallway. Carmilla?”

She sloped out after the taller woman.

In the car, Danny sniffed at the lingering smell of stale smoke and strong coffee.

“So. You got a parking spot or something?”

“Never got a permit. You’ll have to use a parking lot about five minutes’ walk away. Turn right at the end of the street.”

Carmilla followed her instructions in silence. With every turn of the steering wheel, she could feel the unsaid words between them piling up; the hostility blooming thick and heavy like the smoke from her cigarettes..

It was on the walk back, in the cool breeze and under distant sirens, that Danny broke the brittle peace. “So who are you? Why are you with Laura?”

“It’s a funny story actually. She was the first person ever to get my riddle right. You know how boring it is living under a bridge and eating passing merchants?”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

Danny stopped in the street, incensed. “Look, we don’t have to have a problem, you and I. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Funny, cause the moment you laid eyes on me I’ve felt like you’ve been wanting us to have a problem.” Carmilla tensed up, turned to face her. This woman was getting on her very last nerve. “Spit it out.”

Danny stared at her. Then she ran a hand through her hair in defeat. “Look, Carmilla? I care about Laura. A lot. And I worry about her. I don’t trust you. If you get her hurt, or if you’re… leading her somewhere bad, then I will make you regret it.”

Carmilla pitied her. “You cared about her enough to leave her on her own in the middle of Europe with a price on her head. Impressive.”

“A _price-_ ”

“And if you’re worried about me leading Laura astray or something, you clearly don’t know her very well. If anything I’m the one getting dragged around against my will here, okay? She doesn’t need you hovering over her shoulder. She’s an adult. And a fucking tough one too.” Carmilla had the sudden sensation that she’d said too much; she turned on her heel and marched back towards Danny’s flat, wishing she’d just punched her face instead.

Danny caught up to her, but didn’t say anything else. At least until she was unlocking her door, and she hesitated with her hand over the door handle. “Don’t tell Laura. About what I said.”

Carmilla snorted. “No guarantees.”

Laura was already showered and had changed into her tank top and plaid pants. She glanced up at them. “You moved it?”

Carmilla went for the drinks cupboard as Danny replied. She poured herself a whiskey.

Danny looked between them. “Look, it’s after one in the morning, and I have work tomorrow. After I get back, we’re gonna sit down and talk this out, okay? I still don’t know why you’re here. Or why _she_ said that you have a price on your head, Laura, for _God’s sake_ -”

“Oh, Christ,” Carmilla muttered into her glass.

“Danny! Please, just don’t go there right now,” Laura said loudly. “You’re right, it’s late, we can talk about this tomorrow. We’re safe, okay? No harm done.”

Danny’s gaze dropped to the fading bruises around Laura’s neck; she looked sharply at Carmilla, who was too busy drinking.

“So if you can just show us your spare room or whatever, we can all just get a good night’s sleep and save all that stuff for tomorrow. No matter what Carmilla said.” She too threw a piercing look at Carmilla, who was not enjoying the double scrutiny and drained her glass.

“You mind if I have another?”

Danny waved a hand in defeat. “I don’t have a spare room. This is London, I’m lucky to have more than one room full stop.”

“I thought you were a hotshot lawyer,” Carmilla cut across her, pouring another generous measure.

“You can take my bed, Laura. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“And what, should I use your bathtub or something?”

“ _You_ can go f -”

“Danny. It’s fine. You sleep in your bed, you’ve got work tomorrow,” Laura interrupted their bickering. “Me and Carmilla can make something work in here, right, Carmilla?”

Carmilla turned back to face them. She met Laura’s stern expression with a salacious wink. “I’m sure we can, honeybunch.” Danny, next to her, looked close to eruption.

“Just - don’t take my stuff,” she managed, glaring at the glass in Carmilla’s hand, “and don’t smoke in here, and we’ll be fine.”

Carmilla shrugged, and watched as Danny’s gaze jumped between them with uncertainty, before she got up and left them in the living room, closing the door abruptly behind her.

Laura flopped back, letting her exhaustion show. “Why do you enjoy being an asshole so much?”

Carmilla went and sat down next to her. “Come on, someone needs to remove that giant stick from her backside. Maybe surgically.”

“She’s my friend!”

“She needs to find a sense of humour.” Danny’s stricken face on the way back from the car hit her again. “And maybe get laid.”

Laura shifted next to her and didn’t reply.

Carmilla finished her tumbler and looked indecisively over at the bottle, sitting on the counter. But she could already feel the tendrils of sleepy warmth curling through her from the drink, and reluctantly put it away.

“You drink too much.”

“I don’t think I drink enough.” She was only half joking. If she could hold the warm pulse of the alcohol in her body forever, she would. “So, how’s hotel Lawrence looking anyway?”

Laura ended up on the couch, while Carmilla resigned herself to several layers of clothing on the floor.   

When she came back from the bathroom, Laura was already breathing deeply and evenly. Carmilla switched on the reading lamp in the corner of the room and made herself comfortable. She had intended to stay awake, to make sure that no more nightmares stalked Laura’s sleep, but the warmth of the room and the alcohol in her blood proved too much, and she drifted quickly out of wakefulness, Laura’s hand dangling close to her head the last image in her mind.

-o-

_Darkness. Somewhere, something is dripping down rough stone. Sewage, or blood. Oil. It could be anything._

_You lie there, the ferocious burning streaks across your back making you feel sickly and shiver violently._

_The others are gone. It’s just you. Cable ties cut into your wrists, bound uncomfortably behind you. You wriggle and contort, trying to slip them off like you know you can, but they bind tighter and tighter, cutting like knives into your skin, and you begin to panic. The screaming and sobbing catches in your parched throat and after impossible hours, you run out of breath._

_The noise doesn’t stop though. And over the shrieks which mutate familiar voices, close by, ring the guttural language of your captors, bellowing their demands, their threats, their power. You used to think it sounded beautiful. You jump up with sudden strength, desperate, crying, and find yourself face to face with_ him _. Once friendly, comforting. Primal fear grasps you, paralysing you, and his eyes narrow to hateful slits, his mouth opens and blood pours out, so much blood that you gasp for breath, the sickly stench of death and rot and pain overwhelming._

_You can’t scream any more._

-o-

“Carmilla!”

She jerked awake, gasping for breath, heart hammering in her chest. She could feel it pounding in her dry throat.

She was still on Danny’s floor. Sunlight was streaming in through the living room windows; Laura rushed through the doorway with a look of alarm on her face. “Are you alright? I thought I heard you shout.”

Carmilla sat up and ran a hand through her damp hair. She was soaked in sweat again. “I’m fine.”

She knew that she hardly sounded it. Laura rounded the sofa. “Are you sure?”

Carmilla stood up and walked to the window. She flung it open, but fresh air wasn’t to be found. The continental heatwave had reached London, and the stagnant, humid air that it brought only made Carmilla feel lightheaded and woozy.

“Was it a bad dream?” Laura persisted. “Was it - Ell?”

Carmilla had forgotten she’d told Laura that. “No,” she said flatly, “it wasn’t.” Her eyes were drawn to the cupboard which held Danny’s whiskey.

“You can tell me.”

“Laura -” whether it was her own shakiness, or something to do with the softness in Laura’s voice, Carmilla found she couldn’t lose her temper with the other woman, “just - leave it, alright? It doesn’t matter.” She went to the cupboard as though in a trance.

Laura stepped in front of her. “It’s not even midday, Carmilla. You don’t need a drink. Anyway, I’ve just made food, come on.”   

Carmilla stared at her for a second, in her striped off-the shoulder t-shirt and jean shorts, and her big eyes fixing her in place. For a second the promise of oblivion floated before her vision, blurring the features of the girl. But then she nodded and followed Laura to the tiny kitchen.

Over doorstop sandwiches, Laura seemed determined to distract her.

“I’ve always wanted to visit London. We’ll have to take a few hours to see the sights. Who knows when I’ll be back?” She deliberated over her top ten list for some minutes, allowing Carmilla to finish her breakfast and return her heart rate to normal. A part of her wanted to brood on the familiar horrors of her dream. But Laura’s bright voice wouldn’t let her.

Eventually, she ran out of things to say and fell into uneasy silence. Carmilla took a drink of water. “I like Exhibition Road,” she said eventually. “From Hyde Park, down past the Museums of Science and Natural History, and the V and A. It’s not as crowded as some of the other places.”

Laura’s eyes widened over her juice. Then she beamed, and the cold dark dampness of the torture cave in Carmilla’s memory finally vanished under the summery brightness of her smile.

They changed lines at Tottenham Court Road, and the sun had hit its zenith when they emerged from the dusty, dry air of the Underground system at Marble Arch. Carmilla checked her map again. They were right where she’d planned.

Together, they wandered into the inviting expanse of green space that was Hyde Park. The busy traffic behind them faded out; they could hear families playing, students yelling in glee. Carmilla felt her body relaxing. Laura walked quietly next to her.

Carmilla wondered if she should say something. She’d spent the last three and a half days constantly in Laura’s presence, but this was the first time that she didn’t seem to have anything else to think about - just Laura, and her, and the sun warming their skin.

It was Laura, though, who spoke first. “Huh. I keep… I keep thinking that some bad guy is gonna be lurking behind every tree. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.”

Carmilla shrugged. “Hey, it could happen. We aren’t exactly free and clear of this whole thing yet.” Next to her, Laura wilted, and Carmilla cursed herself. “We’re as close to safe as possible, though. The only thing that could have given us away is our passports, and if they can track people by passports, then we’ve got bigger problems than their environmental record.”

“I hope you’re right,” Laura muttered.

“Don’t worry about that. I usually am,” she said back.

Laura laughed.

“Anyway, you’ve got me around to save your ass if anyone does try something,” Carmilla teased, nudging Laura with her shoulder.

“Oh come on, like I couldn’t hold anyone off myself. You-”

“ _I_ don’t count. I was barely trying that night, she sniffed. “Plus, you had the element of surprise. If we went again on a level playing field you’d have no chance.”

Laura smirked wickedly. “I’m pretty sure we’ve already had this argument, and you already lost, Carmilla. It’s okay to admit you can’t handle me.”

A slew of inappropriate thoughts came with her smug tone, and Carmilla almost choked on her own tongue. “I can _handle_ you absolutely fine, Laura-”

“Look! Is that a lake?” Laura sped up her pace. Carmilla just watched her go for a second, quashing down that strange mix of disappointment and relief that had bubbled under her skin at the other girl’s dismissal.

Laura was marvelling at the expanse of water before them. “They’ve actually got a lido! If only I’d brought a swimming costume-”

Carmilla tried to quash the mental image. She shook her head, deadpan. “I knew I’d forgotten something. How could I possibly have left my bikini at home when I knew I was packing to escape an international murder ring?”

“And you call yourself a professional,” Laura tutted. She gave Carmilla a wicked smirk. “Come on. Might as well make the best of a bad situation.”

She led Carmilla to one of the numerous ice cream vans parked up at the side of the path and, despite the latter’s many objections, bought her that English classic - a 99 with a flake. Carmilla felt somewhat ridiculous with the cone clutched in her hand, trying desperately to prevent a major leak of dripping ice cream all over her. “You know how ridiculously overpriced these things are, right? You just paid 8 euro for two tiny ice creams.”

“Can you just, like, enjoy something, for once in your life, Carmilla? And you’re welcome, by the way.”

She took another, determined, lick of the ice cream, but Laura’s eyes were still on her. “...thanks. I guess.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The Albert Memorial glimmered in the sunlight; as they came closer, Laura rocked to a halt. Carmilla had never seen someone’s jaw physically drop before. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

Almost 200 feet tall; with four pillars suspending a pointed, elegant canopy which had always reminded Carmilla of an Orthodox church. But the gold leaf of the canopy paled in comparison to the glowing, golden statue of Prince Albert at the centre. The seated figure was raised, held in an exquisite, timeless shrine.

She watched Laura drink it all in. “All this for one man; he wasn’t even the king,” she murmured.

“It’s no surprise,” Carmilla responded softly, “Victoria loved him very much. She never recovered after his death, and the next forty years or so saw her in eternal mourning for him. To feel a love so deep … it must have been a dreadful curse for her, by the end.”  
Laura met her eyes, and didn’t respond.

Eventually, they walked on. Laura seemed pensive, and Carmilla wondered if she’d overstepped in her remarks at the memorial. Truthfully, she’d been speaking mainly to herself. But she didn’t want those words hanging between them. It was somehow too intimate.

“You never told me how you survived all those assassination attempts back in Vienna.”

“Um.” Laura glanced over at her, “it seems a long time ago now.”

“How many were there?”

“Three. Before you.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, sounding uncertain. “The first guy just cornered me in a back alley. I don’t think he was particularly well trained, and he wasn’t expecting me to fight him off. I broke his nose, I think, and ran for it. The second time was maybe five days later? The brake cords on my rental car had been sabotaged so they snapped when I was in the middle of traffic.”

“Clever,” she murmured, and Laura gave her a withering look. “But you survived.”

“I’m a pretty good driver,” she shrugged. “The last one was 2 guys. With guns. But I knew something was off and I hid in the apartment across the way until they left. They left my place in an absolute mess - that’s when I left and found the other apartment. Which you promptly turned up at.” Laura looked inquisitively at her. “How did you find me?”

Carmilla shrugged. “That was the information I was given. Someone was obviously keeping tabs on you. I’m more impressed that you could fight off people hired to kill you.”

“My parents had me at Krav Maga lessons from the age of eight,” she smiled at the memory. “Then it was Muay Thai, kickboxing, the works. It gives you a bit of a buzz. I’ve never had to use it for real, though.” Laura’s face fell slightly.

“It’s never the same when it’s real,” Carmilla said. “There’s something in a real fight that no amount of lessons can prepare you for. You don’t have to beat yourself up about it.”

“What, was your first fight the same?”

“I don’t remember,” Carmilla said softly. Laura didn’t push her, to her relief. “You interested in science, cupcake?” She pointed out the imposing, 19th century building on their right. Large windows down the length of it were separated by round, stone pillars, giving it the odd look of a courthouse crossed with a factory.

“Huh. That’s more my friend’s scene than mine. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Carmilla led her on.

“So if you aren’t gonna tell me about who you were before your whole murder routine,” Laura said to her as they skirted around a large group of Dutch schoolchildren, “what about before that? What was angsty teenage Carmilla like?”

“Well, you just said it, she smirked, “angsty and teenage. I listened to a lot of heavy metal. Smoked a lot of cigarettes. Broke a lot of hearts. Moved around a lot of places.”

“So not much has changed then?”

“You think I’m still angsty?” Carmilla demanded, offended.

Laura gave her a look. “You own leather pants and stare out of car windows pretending to be deep.”

“Anyone with a good ass can own leather pants, Laura.”

“You quote Nietzsche.”

“So should you.”

“You definitely pretended not to like Taylor Swift for pretentious post-capitalist psychoanalytic reasons or something in the car. Admit she’s catchy, Carmilla.”

“Whatever,” she muttered. Laura poked her in the ribs. “You should be scared of me. I’m a pretty scary contract killer.”

“You’ve still got ice cream marks on your chin from earlier.”

Carmilla’s hands flew to her chin and she stopped, rubbing furiously at her skin as Laura laughed openly at her distress. “You- why didn’t you tell me?! Have I got it off?-”

“Move your hands, you idiot,” she snorted. Unexpectedly, Laura grabbed her jaw, tilted it down towards her, and the craziest thoughts started to ring around Carmilla’s head.

Her thumb came up, stroking firmly along Carmilla’s chin, below her lips, and her heart rate jumped.

“There we go. Infant.” She smirked like she knew exactly what her touch had done to Carmilla, before striding on ahead of her. Carmilla could only shake her head, the thoughts fuzzy and scrambled. Even in the crowd of rush hour London, her companion was easy to spot. No one else’s hips, it seemed, swayed quite like that.

Unfortunately, it turned out that all of their distractions on the way down had taken far longer than they’d expected; the Natural History Museum was due to close soon.

“Well, well,” Carmilla remarked dryly, “time flies when you’re having fun, huh.” Laura deflated. They stood in silence for a few seconds.

“Look,” Carmilla said reluctantly, “it’s not closed yet. The central hall thing is worth seeing anyway, if I’ve remembered it right. You’re here now. It’d be a shame not to get in at least.”

Laura turned to her with a brighter look. “You think?”

She just nodded.

Laura smiled. “Lead the way, then.”

Carmilla, to her relief, had indeed remembered it right. The Hintze Hall arched above them, cathedralesque, and the bright summer sunlight streamed in, highlighting swirling dust motes and elevating the vaulted ceiling to a stretching, cavernous immensity. It was quiet at this time, many visitors already on their way out, and there was nothing to detract from the majesty of the huge prehistoric skeleton on display at its centre.

Behind it, a wide staircase ascended into the belly of the museum. The skeleton watched, a titan at the entrance. Laura seemed struck speechless.

Carmilla had to admit, it was pretty impressive. But her eyes weren’t on cold stone and old bones.

“I wish I could take a picture,” Laura murmured to herself. After a long moment, she looked back at Carmilla. “We have to come back someday.” Her eyes were shining, and Carmilla couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her cheeks.

“Someday,” she said back.

The announcement echoed around the hall only a couple of minutes later - the museum was closing.

“Guess we’d better head back,” Laura said reluctantly outside. “I don’t know when Danny finishes work.”

Carmilla shrugged. “Up to you, cupcake.”

They took the central line from South Kensington, and had to change at Embankment - right onto a crowded rush hour line south. Carmilla balked at the volume of sweaty businessmen she was shoved into, and Laura grabbed her hand tightly so they wouldn’t be separated. Carmilla pulled her against her chest, and her angry aggression at the loud banker boasting to his friend behind about his new girlfriend began to ease.

When they got off at Clapham South, Laura didn’t let go of her hand.

 

* * *

 

It was past nine when Danny finally found her way back from work. Laura had spent the last couple of hours on the floor, sorting out her notes, while Carmilla was sprawled on the sofa in sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt, watching reruns of The Motorbike Show. She missed her bike.

Laura cleared her stuff while she made conversation with Danny, and Carmilla considered turning up the TV. But the taller woman’s intentions couldn’t be made much clearer when she grabbed the remote to turn off the show, and sat down on the armchair with a bottle of Budweiser in her hand. She fixed them with a flat stare.

Laura wandered over with a glass of lemonade, and poked at Carmilla’s feet. She reluctantly lifted her legs, and when Laura flopped down next to her, she plonked her feet in her lap. Laura shot her a glare.

“So,” Danny interrupted them, “spill. What the hell’s going on, Laura?”

“Wait.” Carmilla sat up a little, “Are you sure we can trust her?”

“ _Trust her_?” Danny looked incensed. “Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve known Laura a hell of a lot longer than you and if you dare suggest that she-”

“She,” said Laura loudly, “can speak for herself. Carmilla, stop it. I know you love to annoy everyone in the entire world, but please just...lay off. For like, an hour. Danny, calm down.”

“Not _everyone_ in the world,” she muttered. “But you know they’ve been able to track you. Anyone could have informed on you.”

“You think I’d inform on Laura to _VPI_?”

Carmilla met her angry eyes, her body tensing up to react, her mind sizing up the potential threat. “You tell me.”

“ _Carmilla_.” Laura’s hand came down firmly on her knee, and it wasn’t a touch of comfort. “I trust her. Okay? And the longer you two sit here and you know, compare metaphorical lengths or whatever, the less progress we’re gonna make.”

She held Danny’s gaze for a second longer, before dismissing her with a look to Laura. “Your call, cupcake.”

Laura nodded, and began to tell the entire, convoluted tale. There was one major alteration in her version of events: Carmilla saved her by chance from a fourth assailant in Vienna, and they had travelled together from there. She raised an eyebrow at how Laura’s voice wavered slightly, and her words sped up at the lie, but stayed quiet. Laura’s hand hadn’t moved from her leg.

By the time she’d finished, Danny’s beer was empty. She simply stared at Laura in silence for a few seconds, and Carmilla amused herself with thoughts of how much she looked like a shocked giraffe.

“Laura, this is insane,” she said eventually. “You could have been killed! At least four or five times over! What were you thinking?”

“That’s what you care about?” Laura replied incredulously, and Carmilla didn’t hide her smirk because Laura was so _offended_ by Danny’s lack of priorities, “not the fact that the asshole firm which you went up against in court is proven to be totally shady and illegal?”

“That’s not the point, Laura-”

“I think you’ll find it’s entirely the point, Xena,” Carmilla interrupted her, “this is corporate immunity and capitalist greed gone mad, and the only person doing anything about it is sat on your sofa dealing with your nagging.”

Laura shot her a grateful look.

“A friend of mine is suffering in this,” she continued, remembering Dima’s bloody nose and quiet grief, “and we’re going to see it through. But like Laura told you, we need to get into their offices here. Whatever they’re hiding, it’s been moved off the continent for a reason.”

“So if you can help us out,” Laura picked up where she’d left off, “it’d mean a lot, Danny.”

Danny gave Laura a long look, and Carmilla rolled her eyes.

“Look,” Danny threw up her hands, “I don’t know what I could know that would help, but if you have any suggestions, throw them my way. Also, you might not _die_ if I’m around.”

“Sorry, has she _died_ yet with me?” Carmilla asked belligerently. Danny’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“ _Carmilla_.” Laura squeezed her knee, hard. Finally, she met her eyes again. Laura just shook her head. She settled back against the couch, watching her the whole time.

She took pleasure in the fact that Danny was watching them, silent, resentful.

Laura continued. “You know more about them here than we do. You went up in court against them.”

“What was the case?” Carmilla asked.

“Privacy laws. We had concerns about VPI’s application of data protection versus internal gagging orders on their records.” Danny said reluctantly. “I shouldn’t tell you any more. It’s more than my job’s worth.”

Laura looked at Danny. Carmilla looked at Laura. Everyone waited for something to snap.

Danny dragged a hand across her face. “It’s a vault in there. We argued certain information was in the public interest. They shut us down; they were _protecting_ their partners and clients, including the average people who worked for them or got caught on land they needed. Even information on health and benefits for the on site staff. It was an absolute nightmare.” She got up and grabbed another beer from her fridge. “Not to mention extremely embarrassing for me and the firm. We couldn’t pin them down.”

“Do you think the judge was corrupt?” Laura asked.

“Corrupt? No.” She took a drink. “They had good lawyers. Lawyers who knew their case inside and out.”

“Will the lawyers have copies of their records?” Carmilla piped up. “It’d be easier to get them away than from the original source, surely.”

“No way,” Danny replied, “if they went to court to argue for their privacy you can guarantee that those documents stay inside of their headquarters. No doubt the lawyers had access, but no power over them.”

“So we have to break in.”

“Okay. No,” Laura started visibly at the sudden harshness returning to Danny’s tone, “it’s a fortress. Canary Wharf, next door to some of the top firms in Europe? You’d be caught as soon as you even thought about it. They’d probably find a way to sentence you for terrorism or espionage or some shit for it as well.”

“I could probably break in,” Carmilla returned coolly. “You’d be surprised at what I can do.”

“And implicate Laura when your diminutive ass gets caught by laser controlled machine guns or something? Not gonna happen.”

They fell into a moody silence. Carmilla mulled it over some more. But she didn’t work like that. She was no thief. If she had a target linked to the sort of place Danny was describing, she probably wouldn’t even set foot in the building. Take them out in their lonely anonymous apartments at night, or use the chaos of the commute to launch the perfect sting. If that wasn’t possible, if she had to go in there, it would always be in plain sight.

Could it be possible?

“Maybe we don’t have to break in,” Laura said slowly, interrupting Carmilla’s train of thought. She absently began to trace light patterns on Carmilla’s knee as she thought aloud, and that train derailed easily. “They trust their lawyers? And their lawyers are from an external firm?”

Danny nodded tightly, staring at her bobbing fingers.

“Well, what if they want to review the information that they have? They need a record check. To cover their backs or something after the suit. Wait. When was the suit?”

“Just before I met you in Hamburg. Er - finished on the first friday of June? The 4th.”

“And now it’s August.” Laura’s fingers grazed the inside of Carmilla’s knee, a spot surprisingly delicate. She tried not to twitch. “Okay - just think, the firm - which is it? Molgaard-Jacques? Okay, Molgaard-Jaques have a new lawyer brought in, and she’s worked in the oil and petrochemicals industry before. Maybe she’s got European experience too. So they send her over as a new lawyer assigned to handling VPI’s affairs. She walks in, confident, assertive, smart and in a business suit, sits down, and they get handed to her. She takes down what she needs, says thanks - and disappears into the sunset. Done.” She paused for effect.

Her hand squeezed around Carmilla’s knee. “Oh - the lawyer’s me, by the way. I’m going to do that.”

_Shit._

“Are you insane?” Danny demanded, jumping up from the armchair. “That’s the most ridiculous plan I’ve heard from you, and that includes that time in senior year when you tried to attach a video camera to a _pigeon_ -”

Carmilla snorted. “Inventive. But, as much as I hate to say it, _Schatz_ , she’s probably right. We can’t just walk into a building where you’re probably on a wanted poster at the lobby and ask to see private material -”

“That’s the point, don’t you see?” Laura turned to her with a slightly concerning expression of glee. “There’s no way they think I’m gonna just _walk_ in here after Berlin. And believe me, an authoritative look and a pair of four inch heels - they _work_. If I’m believable - if people want to believe I am who I say I am - I could probably get them to order me a taxi home afterwards.”

Carmilla suspected that Danny was going to have a stroke. But she couldn’t help the smirk on her face. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Laura returned her mischievous look. “That would be telling.” Carmilla’s heart jumped.

“You cannot be considering this, Laura! It’s _insane_ \- you’re going to get caught, and prosecuted, and maybe killed, and I won’t be able to help you -”

“Alright. Tomorrow,” said Carmilla, “we’re having a look at their HQ on Canary Wharf. We’re going to get some professional looking clothes. We need business cards. You,” she turned to Danny, “are going to tell us everything we need to know - about VPI, about Molgaard-Jacques, about what the hell a corporate lawyer should be able to say. We’ll go in the day after - what’s that, a Wednesday? Get what we need, and come back here. Then you can drop your story,” she nodded at Laura’s shining face, “and I can get my damn motorbike back. And my friend. Speaking of him, I need an internet connection, Big Red.”

Danny had sat down earlier in defeat; at that, she got back up, tensely, face drawn. Carmilla was reminded of an angry jack-in-the-box. “Fine. You want to do this - I obviously can’t stop you. But I’ll have nothing to do with it. _She_ can look after you, if you’re going to go down this route. Just-” she floundered for a second, and Carmilla drummed her fingers loudly along the back of the sofa, “-when this goes sideways, see if she’s still around then.”

She attempted to glare at Carmilla, but Carmilla had seen scarier grandmothers, and met her eyes evenly, calmly. “Oh, I’ll still be here. I mean, you’ve quit on her, what, this makes it twice now? Someone’s got to have her back, after all. Clearly it won’t be you.”

All the angry colour drained out of Danny’s face. Laura’s hand clenched around the muscle of her thigh. Their shocked silence was almost comical. Then, Danny spoke. “Outside. Now. We’re going to sort this out, you and I.”

Carmilla was speechless for a second; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you fucking serious? What is this, Downton Abbey? Have I hurt your gentleman’s honour?”

“I’m not screwing around here, Karnstein,” Danny ground out. “You’ve been in my apartment, disrespecting me, pissing me off, ever since you got here. It stops now.”

This was absurd. Carmilla couldn’t help but chuckle, as she swung her legs off the couch and stood leisurely. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Pippi _Langstrumpf_. Please don’t press charges because you just asked for the job I’m gonna do on you.”

Laura finally broke out of her trance. “Are you two serious right now?” She sprung up and went to Danny, angrily shoving at her shoulders. “What the hell, Danny?! I thought you put all this stupid sorority crap behind you!” She turned to Carmilla. “And you! This is entirely your fault! You’re acting like some jealous dudebro right now, for God’s sake, Carmilla! I thought you were meant to be a professional -”

The word was unexpected, and it hit her like Laura’s fist. “A professional? You think this is a job to me?”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t your job running around hitting people with crowbars and disposing of them?” she demanded defensively, perhaps recognizing she’d said the wrong thing.

“Laura, the moment I didn’t _kill_ you in your apartment was the moment this stopped being my goddamn job. I’m risking my life - I’ve destroyed my life - to protect you right now! You think that’s all this is between us? Just good business? Christ,” Carmilla felt the curling tendrils of something cold and unpleasant in her chest, “I thought you were getting to know me better than that.”

Laura froze and stared at her. “I do! Just put this bickering to one side, for goodness’ sake, and we can focus on getting what we need to frame these guys. But Danny’s my friend, and I don’t like who you’re being right now. It’s not you.” She managed, walking closer and trying to put a hand on her shoulder.

Carmilla was tired. She was tired and angry and feeling strangely stupid right now, as though she’d embarrassed herself at a party, and she knew it was irrational but she just couldn’t stop herself from shrugging the hand away. “Well, it is me. I’m sorry it’s taken you so long to see that.  Maybe I should just leave you two alone together, like she so clearly wants me to.” she spat the words over Laura’s shoulder where Danny hovered.

“Come on, Carm, let’s just calm down-”

“Yeah, actually,” Danny interrupted loudly, “you’re incredibly rude, I don’t trust you at all, you just said you tried to _kill_ Laura, and I’d quite like you out of my apartment.” Laura looked stricken. “Now.”

Without another word, Carmilla pushed past Laura, and her floundering, clumsy words, and grabbed her bag. She stormed out of the apartment, ignoring the raised voices that she left behind, and walked blindly into the unfriendly, foreign streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading lads. sorry about the ending. carmilla's a dick but we knew that. so's danny tbh. it's a dick fest. 
> 
> in other news i got my passport back so thx 4 the good vibes i'm not a prisoner of the russian government any more
> 
> always available. ready and willing. down for anything. (mostly) at viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . Leave a comment! <3


	7. ... She's Burning Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to make an omelette, you have to break some eggs; London proves that. Danger lurks behind every corner, and every step the pair take towards the truth is a risky move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes this was meant to go up earlier than this. but then life happened. mysterious depressive episode #23309257. Plus the most spontaneous 4 day trek around Western Russia. I recommend Suzdal. but here we are. more international gay shenanigans.
> 
> thanks all for the reviews so far, they've been a pleasure to read.
> 
> title: continued from the previous chapter - Supergirl, by Anna Naklab, she of the ominous hets.

She hesitated before the familiar green door. “D. Lawrence” glared at her from the nameplate with accusation. Briefly, fleeing the scene looked like a far more appealing option.

Then, Carmilla sighed, and knocked.

It seemed to take an age of waiting before it swung open, and she was greeted with Laura’s face behind the wood, but the expression on it - shock, relief, and something else - made the wait worth it. The early morning traffic outside faded from her hearing as she gave Laura a small, tentative smile. “Can I come in?”

Laura opened the door. Her stuff was spread out in the living room again. Carmilla noticed the dark plaid shirt she’d forgotten lying next to Laura’s laptop.

“Breakfast?” She asked lightly, and Carmilla nodded.

She ate in silence, while Laura made them both coffee. The excited, lively movements that Carmilla had grown used to weren’t there. The voice that normally was full of chatter, distractions, observations, was silent.

Carmilla couldn’t bear it.

“I’m sorry,” she said uncomfortably, when Laura had resettled on the floor, her back to her, “I was out of line last night. With Lawrence, I mean. I put you in a difficult position.”

Laura didn’t react, and for a second Carmilla panicked that she’d blown it, that there was no coming back from last night’s angry words and angrier omissions.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Her tone was neutral.

“In the car.” Carmilla scratched her neck.

“And how was that?”

Carmilla pondered it for a second. Aside from the chilly discomfort and persistent vulnerability she’d felt in there, the nightmares had come back full force. And she’d had nothing and no one with which she could fight them.

“Pretty awful,” she summarised truthfully.

“Yeah?” Now Laura turned to her, and there was a slight smile dancing around her cheeks, “and who’s fault was that?”

Carmilla took a drink of hot coffee. The nightmares were receding into the distant, past night. “Mine. Are you happy now?” She thought about making a comment about Danny Lawrence. She bit her tongue.

Laura stood up, waited. Carmilla walked over to her. She hesitated for a moment, before she pulled Carmilla into a tentative hug. “I’m sorry too,” she said quietly.

Carmilla quashed her wounded pride, and carefully wrapped her arms around Laura in return.

Eventually, Laura pulled back. “I wasn’t fair to you last night. I know you’re not just here because of your job. But you’re - frustrating sometimes.”

Carmilla didn’t have a response to that. Laura’s hands rested on her shoulders.

“Look, we can do this. For Dima, and everyone who’s suffered under them. But you have to stick with me, okay? And you really have to work on your people skills,” she finished with a slight smile.

Carmilla smiled a little in response. “How’s Lawrence doing?”

Laura let her go, and Carmilla missed her touch. “Well, she’s incredibly annoyed that I lied about you, and I think she hates you more than ever now. But she’ll let us stay. And she’s given me her files on VPI. We just need to plan the perfect infiltration.”

“So, what do we need? Professional clothes, business cards for props. Probably phones, too, to stay in cover. Ideally, a contact at the firm to back us up, I don’t suppose Lawrence is friendly with them?” Carmilla mused aloud, her mind easily switching tack onto more famiilar patterns, to the task ahead.

“We aren’t both coming in, Carmilla. Two new people is way more noticeable than one. I’ll go in there, get what we need, get out.” At Carmilla’s unimpressed look, she continued: “You were fine with it yesterday.”

“Yesterday I was doing everything I could that would annoy your oversized guard dog,” she muttered, thinking furiously. This was real, now, and dangerous. “I think we need professional help on this.”

“I don’t think we have any use for more _hitmen_ -”

“I’m not talking about hitmen,” she said quickly, recalling the cool RP and cooler intellect she’d encountered down the phone a week or so ago. “I’m talking about a hacker. I need to get to JP.”

-o-

It was done. Laura had gone to town and found the costumes and props she’d need to look the part. Carmilla had picked up two cheap, off-brand phones and then set about tracking her elusive, clever contact.

He’d been reluctant to meet her. But he’d listened - he’d understood; he’d taken her money, and eventually, he had agreed. She’d left him feeling apprehensive, yes. But also reassured. He was a  less corpulent man than she had imagined.

There was a final piece of the puzzle missing, and it could only be supplied by Danny Lawrence.

So now she was glaring at the sight of Carmilla on her couch, and the latter was already over the deja vu of it all.

Carmilla tried not to roll her eyes. “Look. You don’t have to like me. You can hate me. I don’t really care right now. But we need your help tomorrow.”

Danny’s teeth were clearly grinding, and Carmilla wondered if she knew how to smile. “You’re a contract killer who’s spent her time insulting me and taking advantage of my hospitality.”

“I’m sorry that I was rude to you in your home,” she said with some exasperation, “and I know it wasn’t right to abuse your hospitality. But this is bigger than us. If Laura’s going to succeed tomorrow, she needs you. It’s not just about me.”

Laura nodded next to her. Then she flashed Carmilla a look which, if she hadn’t misinterpreted it, was more than a little proud of her.

Danny rubbed at her forehead. “What would I be doing?” She asked Laura.

But Laura gestured over to Carmilla. “Phreaking,” Carmilla began. “I have a friend who can hack phone lines. He can intercept lines, disguise and change caller identities, the whole thing. We need someone who knows lawyer talk to pose as someone from Molgaard-Jacques, and let them know about Laura’s arrival. They need to insist. She’s flown in from Germany, whatever you need to say, to make sure she gets into the building. And you need to be on call. To support anything Laura asks for; to be a distraction if we need. You’d be a lifeline to her,” Danny sat up attentively; it made Carmilla a little nauseous.

“I thought phreaking died a death about twenty years ago,” she said reservedly, not quite keeping the curiosity from her voice.

“Exactly,” Laura cut in, “it’s not an attack that would be expected now. Plus, Carmilla’s friend is one of the best. He can monitor all outgoing communications, maybe even disrupt them if there’s a problem. We can get away with this, Danny. But we really need your help.”

She was silent for a moment. “And what are _you_ going to be doing while Laura’s in there?”

Carmilla held up the final bit of gear that had been sitting in her lap. “I’m ground support. I’ll be as close as possible to Laura, listening to everything that’s going on,” the little mic dangled from its wire in her hands, “and the moment anything goes wrong, I’ll get her out of there. Whether we’ve got what we need or not.” The last remark, she directed to Laura. Carmilla wasn’t going to let her put herself in more danger over this.

Laura met her eyes briefly, and nodded.

Danny sighed. “And you’ll do this anyway, whether I agree or not?”

Carmilla shrugged. “Otherwise I’ll have to do the posing. Pretty sure I know my legal terms. Mea culpa, right?”

At that, she visibly recoiled. “Fine. But Laura - I’m not you. I can’t keep on doing this, putting myself on the line so recklessly. I don’t live like that. And I wish you didn’t, either.”

“I know, Danny. This is the last thing we’re going to ask of you, I promise,” she said softly.

“Just tell me what I need to know. And no more,” she held up a hand, “I don’t want to get arrested as an accomplice for this.”

Carmilla sent the affirmative to JP.

When they’d thrashed out the details and Danny, despite her misgivings, had gone to bed with a promise to make the call tomorrow, Laura sagged on the sofa. Carmilla toed her side gently. “Are you nervous?”

“It’d be crazy if I wasn’t,” she replied quietly. “You trust your man?”

Carmilla thought, then nodded. “He knows business. We have a deal.”

“Maybe we should make a deal,” she teased, “this article could be worth a fortune.”

Carmilla hadn’t even thought about that. “I don’t want your money, Laura.” she said honestly.

“But what are you going to do - after this? You’ll have enemies.” Laura replied.

Carmilla shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll find something. And I’ve always had enemies.”

Laura hesitated. “Well, maybe I could help you out with that.”

She chuckled without humour. “Maybe.” Glancing at the clock on her new phone, she continued, “we should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be tough.”

When she came through from the bathroom and switched on the reading lamp, Laura was already on the couch, and her low voice interrupted the quiet of the room. “Don’t sleep on the floor again, Carmilla. There must be room for two on here.”

Carmilla’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated. Laura rolled over to face her. “I missed you last night.” She paused for a second. “And I’m scared about tomorrow.”

Feeling as though she wasn’t quite in control of her body, Carmilla went to the couch. Laura lifted herself up slightly, and she slid on, on her back. Laura settled gingerly at her side, half on top of her on the narrow sofa. She placed an arm gently over Carmilla’s abdomen in a loose embrace; her knee came between Carmilla’s legs. “Is this okay?”

Carmilla didn’t know the answer to that. She was tingling. A part of her wanted to run; a part of her never wanted to move again. She was intensely aware of Laura’s warmth; even the low muted colours of the room around them seemed more saturated. She wasn’t tired any more.

“Yes,” she murmured, letting her arm wrap around Laura’s waist and pull her against her. She let out a deep breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and it felt like relief in that moment. Laura felt like relief.

It was with Laura’s warm breath on the sensitive skin of her neck that Carmilla drifted into welcome, soothing sleep. She didn’t dream.

But it was the uncomfortable, familiar sensation of being watched which woke her. She rose out of the darkness with instinctive readiness. Laura was still a warm comforting weight on her chest. She’d only ended up more on top of Carmilla during the night; her hand had fisted in the cotton of Carmilla’s tank top at her waist. Her breaths were deep and even, and they helped to soothe Carmilla’s instinctive sense of danger. With her free hand, she gently brushed blonde strands away from Laura’s face.

She was getting distracted. Moving as little as possible, she cast her eyes around the living room, illuminated not by the reading lamp any more, but by dull early morning sun through the apartment’s east side windows.

Her watcher was immediately apparent. Danny Lawrence was dressed for work and drinking coffee by the window. She was checking something on her phone, but was glancing over periodically at her guests on the couch. Carmilla met her fleeting gaze and held it evenly. There was a disgusting expression of sadness on Danny’s face, which hardened at her guest’s look. Carmilla couldn’t help it. She wrapped her arm tighter around Laura, letting her hand rest on the smooth curve of her hip, while the other tangled itself gently in soft hair. Danny gulped her coffee, looked away. Carmilla closed her eyes in triumph. The front door shut with a muted click only a few seconds later. The prickling feeling eased. Laura’s breathing was warm and familiar now on her neck.

Carmilla lay there, her mind too active to let her sleep again. Danny Lawrence or no Danny Lawrence, something was happening between her and Laura. They’d been together barely a week, and in that time they’d spent more time bickering and fighting for their lives than getting to know each other. But, despite that, something _was_ happening. Every part of Carmilla told her that she should stop it. She didn’t need to get attached again. It was dangerous, it was foolish, and it had always been entirely self-destructive. _She_ was entirely self-destructive. And maybe that was why she knew that there was no stopping this. As the sun rose higher in the summer sky, she let herself escape in the warmth of Laura, in the rhythm of her hand stroking soft hair. For now, everything else could wait.

It was the buzzing of the alarm that Laura had set on her phone which disturbed her reverie. Laura jerked, and leaned heavily across Carmilla to turn it off with a muttered curse. Carmilla couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Hey.” Laura flopped back onto Carmilla’s chest, her voice rough from sleep. “Don’t laugh. How are you even awake before me?” She looked up at her. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

Carmilla’s smirk only grew larger. “Nothing.”

But by the time they’d made it off the couch and finished preparing for what Laura would have to do, Carmilla wasn’t smirking any more. She couldn’t even appreciate the unfamiliar sight of Laura in a tight pencil skirt and fitted blazer, ready to do her part, because her heart was already lodged somewhere in her throat. She texted JP, who was ready to go. She texted Danny, who responded only with an “ _OK_ ”.

Carmilla helped with the last part; the mic. To pick up as much as possible, it needed to be somewhere around Laura’s chest, facing forwards. She poked a hole through the front of the blazer chest pocket, for better audio receiving, and a hole behind it, to lead the power cable to a small pack that needed to be clipped onto Laura, out of sight. Carmilla threaded the wire through, and, wrapping both arms around her waist, clipped the slim pack to the waistband of her skirt. She checked it was secure. “You can’t take your blazer off.”

“I know,” Laura replied.

Carmilla was loath to let her go. “Be careful.”

Laura reached down, taller than Carmilla in her heels, and wrapped her arms around her neck. “I will. Promise.”

“You’d better,” she muttered, but returned the hug. She was getting alarmingly dependent on Laura’s touch.

“OK,” she laughed, letting go. “You’d better test this out. I’m not carrying it around for nothing.”

The mic worked; Danny texted that the call had been made. There was no more excuse to wait. Carmilla left first, making sure she’d be in position before Laura arrived. She hoped that she had made the right decision to trust her. That they’d get out of this triumphant, and safe, and together.

But it was out of her hands now.

* * *

 

“ _I’m here_ ,” hissed the familiar voice, distorted through the tinny mic feeding to Carmilla’s headphones from her phone. She almost choked on her coffee.

“Be careful,” she murmured, but of course Laura had no receiver and wouldn’t hear her.

Carmilla had planted herself in a Costa at the shopping centre next to Canary Wharf’s tube station. VPI headquarters, somewhere between Clifford Chance and Freshfields, was barely ten minutes’ walk away. Carmilla knew she could run it in less than four.

But for now, she was stuck. The coffee tasted bitter on her tongue. The muffled sound of electric doors sliding open bled through the mic; soon Laura was at the front desk.

“Katerina Jincke, here from Molgaard-Jacques,” she said chirpily, and Carmilla barely dared to breathe, “I believe you’re expecting me.”

Some of the response was indistinct, but she picked up on the request for ID. She hoped the fake driving license that JP had helped her with would work.

“That all … in order,” the receptionist responded distantly, “I’ll just need to confirm with another call...security reasons…”

She barely got the warning text off to Danny in time before Laura agreed.  

A few seconds of agonising near-silence passed. Carmilla found herself checking that her gun and knives were still where she’d left them. The good thing about being a slight European, she mused, was that she never got stopped for the Met’s “random” street searches.

There was the decisive click of a receiver. Carmilla tensed. “Thank you...waiting, Miss Jincke...this way…” She breathed a sigh of relief.  

For the next few minutes, it was mostly the rhythm of Laura’s breathing that filled her ears. Carmilla ordered another coffee and a bottle of water.

“This...consultant, David F-” She didn’t hear the name the receptionist offered. A male voice made noises of greeting. Carmilla wished she’d gotten a more expensive mic.

“Ideally, I’d like to deal with the source material, you understand,” said Laura, “it’s my best way to familiarise myself with a client’s circumstances from the most objective viewpoint…”

Carmilla checked that the recording was saving onto her phone.

“...these documents are complex, you understand…” she strained to hear, “...may not present our company in the best light...partial conclusions…”

She’d have to get JP to run some amplification software on it. This could be another useful piece of evidence in Laura’s case.

She could hear Laura standing her ground. Carmilla had to admit, she was a surprisingly convincing corporate lawyer.

“The new documents that my team leader indicated have come in - they’re my priority. Anything that gives a new dimension to your corporate profile is really key for my ability to represent you to the best effect. Especially after the narrow miss of your recent lawsuit.”

“...understand… not aware that those documents...discussed…”

Piece of shit gear, she thought irritatedly.

There was a flurry of activity. Carmilla clenched her fist around the table edge. Laura thanked the man profusely. She must have made it through.

An elevator, perhaps. Indistinct voices; Laura, offering pleasantries. Carmilla felt the tension hanging heavy and tight across her shoulders. Moments dragged.

She thought of the conversation she’d managed to have yesterday with Dima. He’d got the pictures, and the samples. He’d emailed them to Laura, packaged the soil off to her scientist friend in Canada. And he seemed to be getting iller by the day.

She was worried.

And frankly, she didn’t need any more worry in her life. It was then that there was a shout down her headphones. “Miss Jincke-!” Footsteps. A gasp from Laura. Cracks, crashes, echoing loud into her ears. Then, silence.

“ _Scheiße!_ ” she slammed her fists on the table, drawing alarmed looks from suited corporate clones at neighbouring tables. She knew she didn’t exactly fit in, in combat boots and motorbike jacket, but right now she didn’t give the smallest shit.

Carmilla sent a frantic text. _No sound. Are you alright????_

Worst case scenarios were flying through her head faster than she could try to fight them. Laura had been found out. Kidnapped. Interrogated. Killed. She packed up her stuff. Stood - sat - panicked. Wait it out or not?

She was pulling out her handwraps, fully prepared to go in there, when her phone buzzed. _Fine. Just got a surprise. Have access. Don’t text me until I text you_.

Carmilla flopped back into her chair. There was still silence from her headphones. She ripped them out, irritated, and resigned herself to the wait, _Siddhartha_ in hand. But she couldn’t focus on Hesse’s prose, and that ended up chucked in her bag as well. She wanted a drink.

The time ticked by, and the thoughts swirling in her head were uncomfortable and dark, so Carmilla cleared her mind, calling up the discipline she hadn’t used in a long time. It reminded her of nights spent entirely in makeshift tents; stakeouts; watch duty in the desert. A dank torture cave, and cable ties on her wrists. A shiver of threat.

Carmilla closed her eyes for a second, refocused.

Laura’s weight on her chest. Her hand in hers. The harmless flirting on her doorstep in Leipzig - now something quite different. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh.

Her mind, finally, was placid. She could pass hours like this, perfectly aware, perfectly distant. Her feet, square on the floor. Her hands, flat and open on the cool table. Her centre, even and grounded. The light, bright and soft and hazy in the corners of her eyes, focused ahead of her. Minutes passed, too many to count. She could last.

At least until she spotted the unmistakable figure of Laura, tearing across the sedate arching lobby towards her. Carmilla jumped to her feet, instantly out of her head.

“Come on!” Laura barely even stopped for breath, grabbing Carmilla’s wrist and dragging her along behind her.

“What the hell - _Laura_ \- !”

“There’s no time! We have to get out of here!” She was surprisingly agile on her heels, but on the escalator down to the tube platform Laura stumbled, and Carmilla caught her quickly. But she shook herself up again and only thundered further on. There was a train there when they got down; Laura and Carmilla jumped on right before the doors closed. They didn’t know where it was going. Laura didn’t appear to care.

The line was quiet; it wasn’t long past midday. “What the hell happened in there?” Carmilla let rip. “Are you alright, did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Laura said quickly. “I just - okay, I might have taken the documents and, erm, been ready to run with them when I ran into someone we’ve come across before.”

“Who?”

“The guy from Berlin. The thin one, who set his goons on us. He recognised me straight away. So I had to use a bit of Krav Maga on him and I ran. I think your friend came through on his communications lockdown though.”

“Christ, Laura, so they’re onto us again?”

She shrugged. “I’d guess so.” They fell silent for a moment. “The guy, by the way. He’s called William Luce. That mean anything to you?”

She hesitated under Laura’s intense gaze. There was something familiar in that name, just like there had been in his pale, narrow face. A timbre that she’d heard before.

But the memory remained stubbornly out of reach. “No,” she said softly, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”

Laura fell silent.

They changed at West Ham, then Liverpool Street, until eventually they could get on the line to Clapham at Tottenham Court Road and head back towards the relative safety of Danny’s. Laura didn’t speak, but she held onto Carmilla’s hand the whole way. They hadn’t wasted a second. Surely they’d gotten away with it.

Carmilla was relieved to lock the door behind them. “Right. What have you got?”

Laura kicked off her heels. “Almost everything. It confirms a lot of what I thought.” she reached into her briefcase and pulled out a chunky manila folder. “Look.”

“I thought you were just going to take pictures of anything you found.” Carmilla shook her head.

“There was no time!” Laura pulled out a bundle of paper and slapped them on the floor between them, “the guy following me had to take a call and I just put the new folder in my case and said I was done. It was then that Luce turned up-”

“Ok, ok.” Carmilla flicked through the pages, seeing dense paragraphs in German. Polish, Russian, other Slavonic languages that she couldn’t read well - maps of sites and tables of data. “Tell me what we’re looking for.”

Laura dropped next to her. “I can’t read the Russian or the Polish, I need you to do that. But here.” She took the documents out of Carmilla’s hands and flicked back to the German section. She pulled a pencil from the case and lightly underlined a paragraph halfway down one particular page. Carmilla leaned over her shoulder.

_Environmental concerns raised by Schwaiger, Mentchen [Board Meeting 74, Oct 2010]. Passed to Director William Luce for assessment [May 2012]. Must be handled with discretion._

“Those minutes are missing.” Laura flicked through to the appendix. Where 74 should have been was a memorandum from Vordenberg’s secretary’s office.

_Transferred to Vienna under permission of Director William Luce, Code 104 [SENSITIVE CONTENT]. Berlin, Feb 2016._

“And here,” Laura flicked back, “take a look at these site reports.”

_13.02.13. Processing Plant #08, Bad Schmiedeberg, Sachsen-Anhalt, DE: Productivity rise ~8%. Production (serviceable domestic petrochemicals) has risen by 400 units (6%) per annum. Turnover of labour - above average. Illness prevalent throughout plant (respiratory - refer to #08 #43, 09.08.11; B.M. 74). Increasing concern from local population as to health risks. Recommend PR and environmental team in place. Alleviate ENVP (refer to PR/EXT Meetings, cycle 17, #12, 27.05.08) with immediate effect. Inspector: Lorenz Theile. Supervisor: Director W Luce. Vienna, 27.02.13._

They had it.

“It’s clear.” Carmilla leaned back on her haunches, the implications of these documents racing through her mind. “There’s dangerous pollution there, it’s hurting people, they’re hiding it. We can get them with this, Laura. We’ve won.”

“Not quite,” Laura shook her head. “There’s evidence individual departments knew about this, headed up by this Will Luce. His hands are all over these, but they’re separated from the head office. The firm as a whole could escape this, with a good lawyer. Call him a loose cannon, and keep the Vordenberg name clean.”

Carmilla had never had any patience for this kind of maneuvering. “So - what do we need?”

“If there’s nothing in the rest of these documents,” Laura glanced at the pile awaiting them, “we’ll need to get those missing minutes. That links the board to the poisoning, and could show how all of what’s come after it is with their permission.”

Carmilla glared at the papers. “How do you know I can read these?”

“Please. You’ve got Russian down pat.” she ran her eyes over Carmilla coyly, and Carmilla felt her heart speed up a little. “Call it a hunch.”

She was right, of course. Carmilla wished she’d never learned all those languages.

“And while you’re doing that,” Laura said brightly, “I’m going to see what I can find on our friend William. He’s got to have some kind of tragic backstory. Or dark secret. Or...something. He’s way too young to be some hotshot director.”

The memory of him made Carmilla strangely uncomfortable. “He’s probably just some rich kid with connections instead of a conscience. There’s plenty of them around.”

She got to work on the documents Laura had brought. It was hard going. She hadn’t had to read in Russian in years, and while it was typically direct in the language’s style, much of the vocabulary was hardly basic. Her Polish was even rustier. Laboriously, she worked her way through with Laura’s pencil to highlight the significant parts, skipping what she couldn’t immediately class as relevant and trying to skim that which could be.

Laura brought her juice occasionally, and wandered over when she was ankle deep in planning permission documents from Smolensk with a big bag of sharing crisps. Carmilla shovelled a few in her mouth, barely daring to break concentration. Whoever had put aspect into Russian deserved a punch in the teeth.

It was already late afternoon by the time she put her pencil down and ran a hand through her messy hair in tired triumph.

“What have you found?” Laura plonked herself down next to her. She’d switched out the suit for jeans and the plaid shirt Carmilla recognized immediately as hers. Carmilla leaned her head on her shoulder.

“That I’m really shit at reading in these languages and need to practice more.”

Laura made a noise of sympathy. “And the rest?”

“Hmm. Yeah. No link to head office, like you said. That means we’re heading back to Vienna, I guess. But the stuff from Russia and Belarus is bad. There’s definite evidence of deliberate cover ups, records of illnesses directly linked to these processing sites that haven’t been dealt with. And…” she hesitated, lifting her head again.

“What is it?”

“We have to protect Dima. What I’ve found in there - there’s an implication of Belarusian state complicity in the firm’s actions. Laura,” she paused, waiting for Laura to meet her eyes, “if we can tie this up to Vordenberg, we could potentially bring down a political dynasty with this.”

Laura’s eyes widened as the implication sank in. “Shut the front door.” She glanced again at the papers on the floor, at the information contained within them. “We have to finish this, Carm.” She looked back at her, and her eyes were shining. “We can do this - it’s just one more step. I can’t believe it, these people could get some justice, finally be safe in their own homes. It’s more than I ever…” she tailed off, staring at Carmilla, in all her elation, in all her triumph, and she’d never been more beautiful. Carmilla was tired, and sceptical, and almost out of patience. But she was proud, and full of admiration, and something else that reared, now, warm in her belly. She didn’t want to hold herself at arm’s distance any more.

She leaned in, and Laura’s big brown eyes widened, then fluttered shut.

Their lips met, and Carmilla’s thoughts stopped. Laura was soft and yielding beneath her, and she tasted like - the deliciously cold shock of ice cream in Hyde Park. The fiery scorch of whisky in a Berlin bar. Like everything Carmilla had ever needed.

Laura let out the softest moan, and it caused a rush straight to Carmilla’s core. She deepened the kiss, letting her tongue explore Laura’s lips, which parted in welcome. Her hand worked its way into Laura’s hair, as Laura’s hands tenderly traced the jut of her shoulderblades. Carefully, tentatively, they explored each other’s mouths, and Carmilla lost track of time, wondering why on earth she hadn’t done this as soon as she’d laid eyes on that rebellious, careless woman threatening her with a gun in the middle of the night.

Laura bit down gently on her bottom lip and she let out a gasp at the tantalising shock, before she returned the kiss with new intensity. She wanted Laura, now, and her hand tugged at the back of Laura’s tank top, half tucked into her jeans. She could feel Laura’s smile beneath her lips.

They broke apart, briefly, for air, and Carmilla was hit by new uncertainty. Laura was flushed and breathing heavily. Her lips were deliciously swollen. Her tongue darted out to lick at the corner of her mouth, and then she flashed her a shy, shining smile, and leaned up again to slake the thirst she’d awakened in Carmilla.

But their lips could only brush before Carmilla’s phone blared.

The only people who had that phone number wouldn’t get in touch with her without good reason. “Fuck,” she snapped. The spell broke. They were sitting on Danny Lawrence’s living room floor, and her knees were starting to ache.

The text was from JP.

_I’m sorry. But I have to protect my own interests, and you need to run._

Her stomach dropped.

“What is it?” asked Laura shakily, seeming dazed, but she couldn’t even be happy about that.

“We’ve been betrayed. Get the files,” she said evenly, even as the rage and the fear began to twist within her, “and I’ll get our stuff. We’re getting back in the car.”

Laura recognized that her tone brooked no argument. As quickly as they could, they cleared the apartment of everything belonging to them and headed to where Carmilla had left Kirsch’s trusty German Opel. She threw everything in mechanically, and started the car.

“No chance for a romantic weekend break, then?” Laura joked weakly.

Carmilla pulled out and didn’t respond. She could barely feel the presence next to her, focussed as she was on the busy central roads. JP wouldn’t have bothered warning her if he hadn’t feared for her life.

They crawled forwards, the stagnant rush hour traffic allowing them no movement. Every car that trundled by, the drivers in front, behind - Carmilla scanned them all. She fished her Glock from the inside pocket of her jacket, and handed it to Laura. “Make sure the safety’s off. Remember what I taught you.”

After a couple of seconds, the gun clicked.

Finally, there was nothing separating them from the major road south except one set of red lights. Carmilla tapped the steering wheel. She recognised the adrenaline spiking in her. Sounds seemed muffled.

Green. She flew out of the junction, undercut a blue Nissan turning the same way, and the horn blast was like a starting gun. She upped the speed, dangerously fast on the urban roads. They were going to get out of this.

She pulled out her phone and pressed dial, and didn’t let him say a word. “What the _fuck_ , JP?”

“Look, Carmilla, it’s nothing personal. They came sniffing around here, they guessed you’d talked to me - you know how much I’ve dealt with Lilita Morgan and hers! I couldn’t afford to lose their business -”

“How many?”

“What? I don’t know. More than three.”

“Across how many vehicles?”

“No clue. Carmilla-”

“We’re done. If she gets hurt by this -” Carmilla reined herself in,  “if I come across you again, JP, I’ll kill you. I hope you understand that.”

The cheap phone clattered onto the dashboard. Carmilla swung out on a red at the next junction.

“Was he a friend of yours?” Laura asked.

She started. She’d half forgotten she was there.

“We don’t have friends in this industry, cupcake,” Carmilla said flatly, “JP just proved that to you.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. A silver SUV was revving impatiently at the lights she’d left behind. Rental. Several people in it. A prickle ran over her neck. “That’s them.” She took the next right, then left, onto another residential street. The traffic eased, and her tension did a little, too.

She turned at the end of the street, prepared to take a nonsense route for as long as it took to throw them off, and was wholly unprepared for a black Range Rover speeding out of nowhere on their left.

“ _Scheiße!_ ” she snarled, and Laura’s hands were suddenly on the wheel over hers, spinning the car to a narrow escape, just avoiding their attackers’ attempts at a violent T-bone. The back wheel kicked onto the kerb with a jolt.

“Step on it!” Laura yelled, but Carmilla was already there, and she slammed on the acceleration. The Opel gave off a high pitched roar; they pulled away.

“ _Fucking_ hell,” cursed Carmilla again. Car chases were not her forte. Aggressively, she pulled out onto the middle of the busy road, tore down with a long horn blast, weaving the boxy car through as best as she could. The black Range Rover had turned, and it wasn’t far behind them. Ahead, another crossroads. The silver car she’d noticed earlier sped out from the right like a cork from a bottle, and Carmilla jerked the wheel left, slamming on the break to tighten the turn. But the tires were old and bald, and she overspan, and could only turn back the way she’d come, the blare of horns mixing with the screech of wheels, the drone of engines, the blood pounding in her head.

“Come on!” Laura jerked the wheel again, spotting a cyclist ahead. Carmilla tried to keep up. The black 4x4 was going to turn again, and they were going to be trapped. It was all going to be over. She put down another burst of acceleration, but her mind was running blank. She could hear a chopper’s rotors, blasting over hot sand.

She didn’t hear the click of the seatbelt, until Laura landed heavily on top of her, and the gearstick was swung to fifth. “You’d better hold on,” she murmured, and suddenly the car swung again, with sharp alertness, through the static shellshocked traffic, and down a back alley that Carmilla hadn’t even registered, leaving their pursuers behind.

Carmilla, blind underneath Laura, wrapped her hands around her waist.

They gunned out of the alley and Laura span the car perfectly, turning it incisively into a full speed sprint down yet another wide London street. She swung it onto the wrong side of the road and weaved expertly between the cars that Carmilla could hear speeding past them, sounding loud horns. Laura slammed down the clutch with tight, assertive control.

She couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear. Laura let out a whoop. They turned sharply. Another light casting a red glow on the dash. She gunned the engine. They mounted the kerb. Carmilla’s heart was in her mouth.

“Fuck!” Carmilla couldn’t bear it any more. She let Laura slip down between her legs to perch on the edge of the driver’s seat, and peered over her head, into the grimy mirrors. Silver car, nowhere to be seen. Black car, bearing down. Laura swung again, out of another junction on a red. Car. Swerve. Control. The Opel was almost flying. Over the junction; over the danger. A stream of traffic from the left separated them from their pursuer.

Not for long. One of the cars - a telling silver glint. It turned after them. Laura sped up, onto a much wider, larger road, and began to weave her way through, over and undertaking with startling alacrity. A no right turn sign, which Laura ignored. A quick sharp left to follow, and the tires almost lost their grip but she reined them in, and the spin was angle-perfect. They didn’t lose a millisecond, and for now their two followers were out of sight.

Carmilla let her head fall against Laura’s back. Her arms were still tight around her waist. “How the hell did you learn to drive like that?”  

“I told you I was a good driver,” and the smirk in Laura’s voice was easy to detect. “I learned in Canada. My dad had me on a skidpan for four months. Plus he decided it was his job to prepare me for every possible scenario in what he liked to call ‘metal boxes of high speed death’. I’m pretty handy at the wheel.”

“You’re telling me,” she replied weakly.

Laura headed straight, as fast as she dared between parked cars and around blind corners. She shuffled herself back on the driver’s seat, pressing hotly against Carmilla’s thighs with her hips. “Hmm. See, now I’m glad you’re a bit taller than me, or these pedals would not be convenient right now.” She came to the end of the road and swung out, slowing down a bit now.

It wasn’t to last. “Behind us,” Carmilla barked, and Laura stifled a curse before throwing herself back into the chase. The car picked up speed once again.

“You’re my seatbelt,” she shouted as she executed another illegal, dangerous turn, “so don’t let go of me!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Carmilla grunted, as Laura lurched on top of her. Those three strong coffees she’d had before they’d left were starting to look like a mistake.

“Laura. Laura, that’s a pedestrian zone. _Laura-!_ ” With a bump, the car mounted the kerb again, and the screams of shoppers could clearly be heard. Laura started weaving again, leaning her weight on the horn, and Carmilla was powerless to do anything but watch as the people in front of them parted with panic, as the assassins behind them began to follow their path. The street was narrow, though, and they were struggling in their 4x4s.

 _CRACK_.

“That’s a gunshot, Laura! Get your head down!” One of Carmilla’s hands remained firmly wrapped around her waist; the other came up and tried to pull Laura’s head below the steering wheel, but Laura resisted, and took another narrow turn that the two bigger cars surely wouldn’t be able to manage. Two young women only just got out of their path, and Laura actually leaned out of the window and yelled an apology, which was not helping Carmilla’s nausea. With another lurch over a speed bump, they found themselves back on a main road, and Laura took yet another easy turn and joined another traffic queue onto the southbound highway, just in time for a police unit to tear past them towards the chaos they’d left behind, sirens unbearably loud.

A low noise of satisfaction made its way out of Carmilla’s mouth, and she flopped against Laura again. “You can’t fire a gun in this city and expect no one to notice. You got them frustrated, buttercup.”

“I’m good at that,” she replied, and Carmilla could hear the ripple of smugness in her voice. “Think they’ll get onto us?”

“No way. The police will have enough on their hands with whatever those guys are packing. Hopefully, we’ll be innocent bystanders caught up in the fear on any CCTV. Of course, all of this can be avoided,” Carmilla poked at Laura’s shoulder, “if we get through the tunnel back to France before they can get around to arresting us.”

Laura took the hint, and wasted no more time as she found the A-road, following signs to the M20 back towards Dover, and Europe. Carmilla, for now, let herself rest against the other woman’s back, at least until Laura pulled over at a McDonald’s and demanded that she get out of the driving seat. She laughed at Carmilla’s irritation and, after a second, rewarded her submission with a quick, chaste kiss to the lips. Carmilla found no more objection after that. They had a long way to go, after all. Back to Vienna - to where it all started for them. Now, they could finish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well then. 
> 
> find me @ viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . Or wandering the snowy streets of Kazan. Winter's come early this year and I'm freezing my ass off.
> 
> thanks for reading chums <3


	8. Like pilgrims on the Camino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to go back to where it all started. On the way, uncomfortable truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Pilgrim, by MØ.

_ His face is familiar. It’s open, it’s kind. And in this hostile, dangerous land, it’s about the friendliest you’ll find. You and your team - you say team, it’s a hotchpotch combination of Europe’s best ghost cells, and there’s only one there that you really know - have no option but to trust him. You vouch for him. He’s never led you wrong. If the Brits had listened, maybe they wouldn’t be where they are right now. Needing you to rescue them.  _

_ You’ve been making progress under cover of the frigid, dark nights, and you wonder if his information is correct. But it’s here, as the sun is just breaking over the Afghan wilderness, that he points out a steep gully, hidden by the natural curve of the rock formations. You see it clearly now, with the knowledge of what’s about to come, and it plays out like a worn silent film.  _

_ You enter the gully, the HK416 carbine in your grip a burden that is welcome - a comfort. The men - two Egyptians and a Finn being the only ones worth their title in your opinion apart from you and Künzl - are close behind. The sudden gloom is no surprise. You adjust, and walk on, soundless on agile feet. _

_ But something is wrong. You know it, you can feel it, watching yourself take the same steps you took four years ago, and you’re powerless to turn the tide.  _

_ Shots. _

_ Insurgents - you are trapped, trapped in a narrow gully whose throat has been choked with gunfire and metal, and this is no safe camp, holder of prisoners you were to rescue, but an ambush, an ambush orchestrated by the very man you thought you could trust, and one of the Egyptians goes down. A bullet rips through your arm with a noise like a whip crack, but you don’t feel it - you shoot, the anger and pain and fear lending you strength, until your gun clicks empty, and there’s nowhere else to run, and you look up into the eyes that were once so warm to you and know that, whether you die or not right here, your soul will never rest easy until those eyes are dull and empty of life. _

_ Of course, you know what happens. You don’t die that day. But in the dank torture cave that awaits you, the cable ties that will bite into your wrists and the very real whip that will tear into your back, you’ll sometimes wonder if you should have. _

-o-

“Carmilla!”

She flew out of the nightmare, hands already reaching for her assailant, and they were batted away. Rageful, defensive, she went to strike again, but the person had seized both of her fists in a strong grip and there was a gearbox in the way of her legs. 

“Carmilla, look at me.”

Gearbox. She was in a car. Not in hell on earth. She finally took in the shadows and shapes in front of her eyes. Night. Front seats. Left hand drive. Laura, the driver, hands warm around her knuckles, eyes wide and scared. 

Laura.

“ _ Mach’ das Licht an! _ ” she managed, falling back into German, and her voice was pathetic with its wavering, spluttering tone. But Laura understood and switched on the little light, and its weak yellow glow filled the space between them, around them. Outside, now, was only darkness. In front of her was only Laura. The contrast was stark. 

She lowered her fists, feeling horribly drained. Her heart pounded violently in her ears. Laura was stock still; Carmilla could barely look at her. 

Her hand brushed Carmilla’s sweaty hair from her eyes, and Carmilla jerked away from the uninvited contact. Laura snatched her hand back as though burned.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Carmilla just shook her head, the words escaping her. The lacerations across her back were burning again. His familiar face, spitting blood as she plunged the knife. She seized her head in her hands, trying to get rid of the images.

“Carmilla,” said the familiar voice again, “I want to help you. Let me know how I can help you.” The quiet drone of French voices on the radio was silenced, and she only noticed them in their demise. A sharp end. “Carm. Look up. Look at me.”

The heavy silence was unbearable, and a part of her waited for a gunshot to crack through it.

“Please, Carmilla. I’m here; you’re safe. It’s just us.” 

She lifted her head, all of her instincts screaming at her to stop, screaming at her to protect her most vulnerable area, but Laura’s eyes were waiting for her. It wasn’t enough right now.

“Talk to me,” she managed. “Talk...about anything. I don’t care.”

After a dreadful long moment, Laura’s voice washed softly over her. She was on holiday. Hiking in the wilderness, with a father who had never even taken her to the city out of fear for her life. She was in the wilderness, and the stars were out, and she was in her father’s arms, listening to the stories he could share, and she was forgiving him for everything. The details were lost on her. But she listened to the sounds Laura was making, the gentle rhythm of her voice, and her hands began to unclench around phantom weapons. The marks on her back began to heal, for the thousandth time, just as they ripped open every time that her defenses were down. She reached out and took Laura’s hand as her story tailed off.

“I don’t know if you want to talk about it,” said Laura quietly, brushing back Carmilla’s hair with her other hand, “but I think you need to talk about it.” Carmilla didn’t respond. She closed her eyes at Laura’s touch, and hated herself for being weak. Why tonight? Why was it worse tonight than it had been in years?

“Danny - she thinks you’re military. She thinks I can’t see it, because I spent my whole life around people like you and I think it’s normal for people to have, like, two different extremes of energy setting constantly in conflict.” She paused her gentle strokes and cupped Carmilla’s chin. “What happened to you there? I know that this is before - the other thing you told me. About her. What happened before that, Carmilla?”

Her strength was coming back. That, at least, was something useful that she’d dragged with her out of all the violence and the nationalism and the ruthless, unyielding dogma.

“Give me a minute,” she said, trying to order her thoughts, get a grip on herself. She pulled away from Laura and rolled down her window. They were in a motorway service station, somewhere in France. No surprise there, and she tried to fight off the deja vu. She breathed in the fresher air and allowed the faint background noise to cover up the silence for a second. Then, shakily, she drew out her cigarettes and lit one, letting the routine and the smoke fill her head. Laura waited. 

She threw the butt out of the window and rolled it back up. The space between them seemed smaller now, and almost too intimate. The woman opposite her simply watched, uncertain, worried. 

Carmilla decided that there was no point stalling. “Danny, as much as I hate to admit it, is right,” she began, switching back into English, “I entered the  _ Bundesheer  _ two weeks after my 17th birthday as an infantry soldier. I told you; I had no family, no attachments, no qualifications - no future really, except for what the army offered. I walked away from my foster home without looking back.

“And, Laura, I excelled there. I found identity, a kind of family, a kind of belonging; I was fit, and I was smart, and I was pushing for promotion by twenty. Just after I turned twenty, I was put up for a nomination to train with the  _ Jagdkommando. _ ”

She saw the recognition in Laura’s face. Austrian special forces. Elite, and secretive, and a life in constant flux.

“Of course, I passed, and entered Special Ops, but they weren’t done with me. I’d already served in South Sudan, Afghanistan and Iraq when they came again. They wanted me in covert ops. I agreed - it wasn’t an opportunity you can turn down - I was retrained. My gender, my affinity for certain languages - they put me on PZR, the  _ prizrak  _ program. It was ghost ops in eastern Europe, and the Russian sphere of influence,” the memories came back to her then, thick and fast, a time she barely even thought about any more. “I learned languages, how to take initiative, survive completely on my own. Mircalla Karnstein ceased to exist; I became PZR-1698 for all official documentation. A ghost.

“One of the operations I took on - it was to Belarus. They suspected that Russian political prisoners had been moved there illegally. The mission went to shit and we split and had to get out of there. On the way, a young kid called Dima, along with his family, helped me out. They didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect any repayment; they just took in a young backpacker lost in on her way to Minsk. The next morning I got on a bus towards Lithuania and swam across a river some 30 kilometres south of the border crossing. But I owe him a debt, because without him, I wouldn’t have made it, I don’t think.” Carmilla finished. She’d never spoken about this, to anyone, and it was exhausting. 

“You weren’t lying then, when you said you were banned from there,” Laura said softly, incredulously. 

“Well - the particular passport I was using then has probably been blacklisted,” she smiled a little. “Still, I loved my job. It was my entire life, you understand.” Laura indicated for her to continue. “But there was other stuff. I was in central Asia a lot. You remember Uzbekistan - when the President’s daughter disappeared after criticizing him on Twitter?” 

Laura nodded. “We thought we were looking at a human rights abuse.”

Carmilla couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “It depends if you count evacuating her to a certain island paradise in the western hemisphere as a human rights abuse. Believe me, when I told her that’s why I was abducting her, she cheered right up. I mean, she’d definitely... come around to me by the time we got there.”

“What a life,” Laura said, but her eyes were still watching Carmilla carefully. She could feel their scrutiny, and knew that she couldn’t avoid what was at the heart of it.

“I thought so too. When I was twenty-four, I was a team leader. An expert, a fifty-million euro supersoldier who could change the face of the world, with the right intel and the right access. I was unstoppable. And that’s why,” she felt the tightness in her chest, “they sent me back to Afghanistan.”

“What happened?”

“An SAS unit had disappeared in southern Helmand, somewhere along the heroin route west, to Iran. You know SAS, right? Elite British forces. The best in the world, along with us.” Carmilla could see it all over again. “To lose an entire unit was unacceptable. So the British government requested our aid in getting them back. I scoped out and made the team. Took one of my men with me, and roped in some others, Scandinavians. The best available, at least. Ghosts, like me.” It was getting difficult now. “I made contact with an informant. He had a family, was trying to do his best in an area that was ripped apart by war. He was scared, knew something. I promised to protect him. If there was reasonable threat to him, we could bring him and his family to Europe. It’s the ultimate bargaining chip.

“After two weeks of intense planning, winning his trust, we went in. He led us well into the desert. Claimed that there was a base there, possibly with senior Taliban members. People who were orchestrating, causing this violence. I wanted to help him, you know? As well as rescue the Brits.”

Carmilla took a moment. What came next - it still hurt.

“I’d been tricked. He led us into an ambush which I hadn’t detected. There were six of us - we were taken prisoner. Lashed. They started to torture us, one by one, for information.” The cave was pressing down on her again; the ties digging into her wrists, the blood trickling down her burning back. “You have no idea what it’s like - hours and hours in hell, not knowing whether you’re alive or dead, whether you’re ever going to see a friendly face again.”

“How did you escape?” Laura asked calmly, but Carmilla looked up and saw how her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“I’m small. They didn’t quite secure the ties around my wrist as tightly as they should have. I dislocated my thumb getting free, but once I did - all I wanted was to get my team out.” Carmilla shook her head. “I spent hours in those tunnels, putting down their men one by one, taking their equipment, working my way through until I found where the others were. They’d raised the alarm - I barely remember it all, to be honest. I was running on empty.

“When I found them - I took them down, and I got my men free, and we rallied. But on the way - we found more soldiers, and the man who’d betrayed us. He had a family, he hadn’t lied about that. He was scared for his life, too. But he’d chosen the wrong side.

“I killed him.” She said it baldly, without emotion. “In my mind, he ceased to be a civilian in that moment. He was a dangerous enemy agent, and I killed him. Not as quickly as I should have. That betrayal - that face I’d trusted - I ended it there.” Disgust washed over her again. “I went back a hero. I’d saved most of the lives I’d taken in there; I even found the three SAS men, and got them out. But I wasn’t the same. They got me to sign a secrets act, which I’ve just broken by telling you this, and they gave me an honourable discharge. No medal, no payoff. Just washed their hands of me.” It was a mess in her head - the alcohol. The examinations. The violence, which brewed inside of her until it exploded out, with terrifying speed and long-trained potency. “They didn’t know what to do with me.”

“And that’s how you became a hitman.”

“Effectively. Lilita Morgan found me when I was going freelance, took me under her wing. Added me to her network. It was a better life than a lot of people end up in, when they leave the force. I shouldn’t complain,” she finished sardonically, and there was a bitter, horrible taste in her mouth.

“I think you’ve every reason to complain,” Laura said. She was still looking at Carmilla with something altogether too close to pity.

“I don’t want your pity, Laura,” she said curtly. “Everything I’ve done was my choice. If you had any sense, you’d kick me out of this car right now, and get as far away from me as you can. I’m a common murderer.”

“You’ve just told me, Carm. You always acted to help people. You can deny it all you want; but I believe it,” Laura replied softly, “I can’t judge what you’ve been through. I’ve never been in anything remotely similar myself. But war changes you. It changed my dad. Made him so paranoid, thinking enemies were around every corner, that we were never safe. You’ve given up so much to help other people. Your life, really.”

“You think I’m damaged goods.” Carmilla said, vulnerability and uncertainty making her defensive.

“No! No,” Laura said quickly, “I think you’re strong enough to make a new life, Carmilla. A second one. You don’t have to let this define you. You’re scared of walking away from what you know, which is living like this, a ghost. But you could. You’re smart. You’re good.”

“I’m not good, Laura,” she replied bitterly, “haven’t I made that clear to you yet? If you hadn’t caught me by surprise, I would have killed you. And walked away without a second thought.”

Laura studied her for a long second. “And if you hadn’t saved me in Berlin, I would have been killed by someone else. You didn’t kill Ell. You didn’t want to kill that man in Berlin. What you’ve done, you’ve had to. And I’m not gonna sit here and call you a murderer when without you, I’d be dead, or worse.” 

Carmilla felt sort of like she was arguing with a brick wall. “You’re so frustrating,” she sighed eventually. “Why are you still here?”

Laura’s hands were soft on her cheeks, and she looked unbearably beautiful under the yellow light of the car ceiling. She leaned forwards, and Carmilla fell into the kiss, and her lips were so gentle it was almost painful. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. Carmilla couldn’t look away. “Because I don’t want to leave,” she said simply.

Right now, she could let herself believe it. Carmilla returned her kiss, deepening it with all of the vulnerability Laura had dragged out of her, all the need she had right now to feel something. Laura’s hand tangled itself in the hairs at the nape of her neck, tugging gently and sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Carmilla wrapped her arms tight around Laura’s small frame, pulling her closer to her, and Laura responded, clambering over the gearstick and letting their kisses turn messy, before she settled herself on Carmilla’s lap, and pressed close to her, and lazily let her tongue explore Carmilla’s smoky mouth.

Carmilla was on fire. Every inch of her could feel Laura’s touch, every part of her was crying out to be touched. She was no stranger to desire and the mechanisms in which the sensation resulted, but she had never  _ burned  _ quite like this. Laura’s nails scratched at her scalp and she gasped open mouthed, and their their tongues met, slow but desperate for more.

One of her hands was kneading at the strong flesh of Laura’s thigh; the other drifted up and pushed its way under her shirt, to feel warm skin. Laura gasped at the chill of her hand, and Carmilla seized the opportunity to take control of their kiss. Laura moaned into her mouth, and she tasted so good. 

Unfortunately, she did need to breathe, and Carmilla sank her teeth gently into Laura’s lip before she pulled away. But Laura had barely started to say something before Carmilla, finally, got her lips to the line of Laura’s throat, the bruises from Berlin finally faded, and she sucked gently at the pulse point. 

Whatever she’d wanted to say, it died on her tongue, and Laura’s head fell back. Her hips were grinding into Carmilla’s, and Carmilla could feel the flames curling below her stomach. Her hand, rubbing circles into Laura’s bare back, began to explore, and it was with a delicious shock that she discovered the telltale dips and ridges of defined abdominal muscles around the other woman’s navel.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” she managed, pausing her assault for a second, “where did they come from?” Her hand dipped riskily low and skated along the waistline of Laura’s pants.

“What, you like it?” Carmilla was not prepared for how breathy Laura’s voice sounded, the words tossed out into the space above them.

She nipped her teeth sharply into the soft skin of Laura’s throat, who tried not to buck her hips more in response. “What do you think?” 

Laura dragged her back up, to meet her lips.

A hand found its way under Carmilla’s shirt, pressed decisively into her side, slid up to find her breast. A part of her wanted to do this forever. But another part of her, growing by the second with every touch of Laura’s to her back, her hips, her scalp, needed release. The hand on Laura’s thigh drifted up, closer to the warmth between her legs, and Carmilla slid her other hand down to cup the firm swell of her ass. At this stage she wasn’t sure whose tongue was whose. 

But as Carmilla’s thumb rubbed at the button on her tight jeans, Laura pulled away. Carmilla chased her mouth, but she stood firm, letting go of her grip on Carmilla’s hair to place a soft finger on her lips. Carmilla opened her eyes, and God, Laura looked messy, and breathless, and entirely divine. 

“I’m not having sex with you on the side of the motorway in Kirsch’s crappy car,” she said in a voice made husky with desire. Carmilla pressed her knees together.

“What about not in Kirsch’s crappy car?” she managed, and it was embarrassing how much her voice didn’t sound like her own. She wanted Laura, physically, powerfully, and it was reducing her to tunnel vision, to the warm body in her lap which had taken over all her senses.

Laura laughed. “Don’t we kind of have a company to bring down, Carmilla?” She brushed Carmilla’s hair out of her face with both hands, and Carmilla leaned into the touch. 

“It’ll still be there tomorrow,” she let her hands rub gentle patterns into Laura’s back.

But the moment had passed. “We won’t if we keep stopping,” Laura smiled, and pressed one more firm kiss to Carmilla’s lips. “Not now. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

“You are a cruel woman,” she sighed, letting her hands fall from Laura’s sides. Her head was still spinning, and she hadn’t been so affected by another woman since she was a teen. “I’m going to have to get some air. Don’t look so smug,” she shot at Laura, who’d settled back into her seat and was trying to get her hair under control.

“Don’t go far,” Laura said brightly. Carmilla grabbed her cigarettes and stepped into the night, trying to bring her breathing back to normal. 

_ That  _ wasn’t meant to happen. Even now -  _ especially  _ now. The sensation of Laura’s skin under her lips began to fade as she remembered what had come before it - her trauma, her secrets. She didn’t know what was happening between them - it was new, and scary, and she had no words to begin to describe it. So Carmilla smoked her cigarette, and lit another, and pictured the unfortunate sight of her third foster mother in the shower, and pulled herself together again.

When she got in, she noticed that the windows of the car were amusingly fogged, and that Laura’s hands were leaving damp imprints on the steering wheel.  

Laura started the engine. But she didn’t pull out. “Thank you,” she said abruptly, staring out of the windscreen window, “for telling me.”

Carmilla didn’t respond. 

“Will you - will there be any more nightmares?”

“I don’t know,” she replied flatly, “wake me up if I get loud.”

Laura idled the car for another second, but then pulled back onto the motorway. She switched up a couple of gears. Then, she took Carmilla’s hand, and kept it there on her thigh until she had to change again. Carmilla placed her hand over hers on the stick, after that. The touch was comforting.

They switched drivers when Laura couldn’t keep going any more, changing in the grey chilly dawn somewhere past Reims. Carmilla chanced a glance at her as the car ate up the miles towards the German border, seeing how she slept peacefully, openly. It filled her with a kind of tenderness she was unused to feeling. She tried to shake the thoughts out of her head, and focussed on the approaching checkpoint. 

They were waved to a stop by a young guard in a coat slightly too large. Carmilla grabbed their documents from the glove box, careful not to disturb Laura. 

“Purpose for travel?” he asked, bored, as he checked the pair of German passports. 

“Holiday,” she replied briefly. 

His eyes narrowed as he looked between the two of them. “Insurance documents?”

She hoped Kirsch hadn’t taken them out - no, they were in here too. “There’s nothing wrong with the car,” she said, irritated, as he leafed through them. 

The guard pointed to a scrape along the passenger side rear door. “Looks new. Have you had problems?” 

“It’s barely a mark,” Carmilla snapped. He read on in silence.

“This isn’t your car,” he turned back to her, “and you’re taking a roundabout way back to Berlin.”

“It’s our friend’s,” she said curtly, “he lent it to us.”

The guard went back to his box, the documents still in hand, and Carmilla began to feel uncomfortable. Had the police in London picked up on them after all? She shook Laura awake, and quickly explained where they were. Laura’s sleepy eyes widened.

When the guard came back, he looked more serious. “Step out of the vehicle.”

“Why?” Carmilla didn’t move.

“We have the right to order random checks of any vehicle crossing this border,” he replied edgily, “so get out of the car.”

She did so, slowly, and a second older man appeared. “Stand by the wall,” he said tersely, and Carmilla took Laura’s hand. “You still have the guns?” she murmured under the pretense of sorting out her collar. There was a faint purple mark coming up on her throat.

Laura froze. “They’re in the car.”

Carmilla’s fists tightened on the plaid. She managed not to swear, but she turned back to the two men, watching them go through the faithful Opel carelessly with dread sitting heavy in her empty stomach. She wrapped an arm tight around Laura’s waist, as much to keep herself calm as the other girl. 

It didn’t take long. The younger man pulled out a gun from underneath the driver’s seat with a noise of shock, and his colleague immediately turned back to them, drawing his pistol from his holster. “Is this your firearm?” he barked at Carmilla. Everything got suddenly rather tight.

Laura went to speak, but Carmilla pinched her hip sharply, and she twitched and closed her mouth. “I have the documentation for it. Let me get it out of the car.” She had one more roll of the dice.

“Go. Slowly.” Carmilla could feel the gun trained steadily on her back as she made her way back over, and carefully pulled out her wallet, and an additional flimsy sheet of paper sitting at the back of her bag, in a small zipped compartment. She raised both over her head before she turned around, and both guards looked in hostile confusion at the much folded, faded pink paper. Carmilla held it out. “I advise you scan this in your database.” It was the most valuable document she had; the one genuine ID she’d held under PZR. 

“For now, you can both consider yourselves under arrest,” the older man snapped. “You - make sure they don’t move an inch.” He snatched the document from Carmilla’s hands and disappeared into the guardhouse.

“Carmilla - what’s going to happen?” Laura asked quietly in English. The guard looked between them suspiciously.

“Hopefully that’ll persuade them to leave us alone. It might put us under time constraint, though. My old colleagues probably won’t be happy that I’m still, aah…” she glanced at the small queue that had formed behind them on the French side of the border, “up to no good.”

“Great,” Laura muttered, “more people trying to kill us.”

“If you hadn’t left your gun under the goddamn  _ seat _ ,” she said testily, “this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Yeah, and how was I to know that Germany was taking lessons from North Korea on border control!” Laura snapped back, her voice rising. 

“ _ Ruhe _ !” The guard interjected aggressively, and they fell silent.

Carmilla exhaled heavily through her nose. Seconds ticked by. 

She started as a door slammed. The other guard came out, hurriedly. His face had lost all colour. He thrust Carmilla’s documents back at her. “Let them go,” he called to the other guard, the confidence drained from his voice.

“The gun?”

He glanced at Carmilla. “We need that back,” she told him calmly. She plucked it from his hands. “May I remind you, gentlemen, that what happened here is something you’re no longer at liberty to discuss.”

They got back in the car. Behind them, the older man was screaming at the guard who’d stopped them. 

God, she’d missed having this kind of privilege. Theoretically, that document should have been destroyed on her discharge. But they’d hoped it would be a temporary release, and it had never been taken off her. Then, she’d disappeared.

She could feel Laura staring at her as she joined the highway towards Stuttgart. “So it’s all real, then. What you told me.”

She snorted, relief making her flippant. “What, you think I’d make it up?”

“I don’t know. It sounded pretty… implausible at times.”

“Why the hell would I do that, buttercup?” 

“Maybe it’s what you tell all the girls.” She couldn’t miss the suddenly playful edge to Laura’s tone. Her heart skipped a little.

“Just the ones who’ll make out with me in their friend’s car,” she grinned.

Laura smacked her shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” Carmilla said in response, switching lanes.

Laura didn’t answer, but she was staring out of her window with a blush gracing her cheeks. Carmilla smiled to herself. The miles slipped by.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly shorter, character focused chapter this time. i hope all that heavy petting made up for the lower word count.
> 
> we're back in for major plot next time. these two just can't catch a break, huh.
> 
> Thanks for reading - leave a review, or come find me at viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com . please relieve the monotony of my life in russian winter. i'm begging.
> 
> ciao bellas xoxo


	9. Peripheral on the Package

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay my friends, literally 3 people got really ill in Russia including me and also personal life happened so that's wild
> 
> maybe not as wild as this chapter though so hold on to the seat of your pants. I don't remember writing it and let me tell you i need a cup of tea to calm me down after this edit
> 
> chapter title: The Package, by A Perfect Circle

By the time they’d entered the city limits, it was evening again. Laura indicated and parallel parked neatly on the side of the road. Carmilla stretched the stiffness out from her shoulders. Vienna was a hauntingly familiar place through the grimy windscreen. 

“So.” Laura tapped short nails against the steering wheel. “What’s the plan?”

“Find a hotel and sleep for days?” Carmilla asked hopefully. At Laura’s unimpressed look she changed tack. “We need to break into VPI headquarters, I suppose.”

“Any experience with that?”

Carmilla considered it. “I don’t have world-beating stealth equipment at my disposal. Or a hacker.”

“So that’s a no.”

She shrugged. “Broken into one place, broken into them all.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s not always a rule to go by, Carm.”

“Well,” Carmilla locked eyes with her, feeling the attraction curl in her chest again, “why don’t you give me the info on this place? Then I can think of something a bit better than breaking a window and climbing in.”

Laura smirked a little, but grabbed her laptop from the back seat. They huddled together as she brought up what she knew, what she’d guessed, and what Google could tell them. Carmilla partitioned away the part of her which could feel Laura’s heat against her side, and focussed on the options she was being offered. 

Like many other international organizations, Vordenberg’s headquarters were located out east of the city centre, in Donaustadt. The imposing Albrechtturm stood out from its surroundings - none of the others were quite so high. It was a reasonably new building, all glass and steel, and it rented out a few of its lower floors to various NGOs. Perhaps they provided the way in. 

Carmilla considered what she had with her. Not much. Lockpicks, weaponry, and her initiative; that was about it. She’d even lost her basic tech capabilities when she’d chucked her phone under a lorry’s wheels last week. She had more at her flat. Assuming it hadn’t been emptied by Lilita Morgan, that is.

Carmilla glanced again at the images on the screen. The VPI building was neighboured by smaller business centres, administrative hubs. Its fourth floor was an NGO. Level with the roof of the building next to it. 

She zoomed in. The image quality wasn’t particularly good. But an ambitious plan was forming in her mind. 

“Laura.”

“Hmm?”

“How do you feel about zipwires?”

The glint in her eye was not what Carmilla had hoped to see. 

-o-

Carmilla directed Laura to the next street over from her little apartment. The sun was finally setting. Laura stopped the car.

“I’m only going to get supplies,” Carmilla said, undoing her seatbelt, “but I don’t know what’s up there. If I’m not back in,” she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, “fifteen minutes, then you need to leave, okay?”

“Maybe I should come up with you.”

“No need. Just keep the car moving. I’ll be back soon.” 

Laura leaned over and kissed her firmly. It wasn’t a sensation Carmilla thought she’d ever get used to. 

“What was that for?” she asked stupidly, her hand stuck on the door handle. 

Laura looked away. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m going to lose you.”

Carmilla had no answer to that. “Fifteen minutes,” she said eventually, swinging open the door. 

She jogged around the familiar streets, pushing Laura from her mind. Out of habit, she checked in her building’s parking. Her Kawasaki was decidedly absent, and she allowed herself to be disappointed, before continuing into the stairwell she’d been using for the past few years of civilian life. 

Carmilla slowed her pace as she neared her floor, and drew the knife from her hip. It was better than a firearm in confined spaces. She paused outside her front door. Silence. So she unlocked it carefully, opened it up a crack, and slipped inside. She left the door open behind her, just in case. 

The place was a mess. She could see the damage on the walls where Theo had slammed her hard against them, just a week or two ago. It may as well have been years. So much had changed; she felt changed. The image of the girl waiting for her in a trashed out car drifted before her eyes again. Carmilla shut them, shook herself back to where she was.

She picked her way through the debris. Theo’s blood was on the floor, dried and brown. She thought again about his body in a Berlin back street, and the emptiness yawned. Carmilla went further. 

Theo had done a hell of a job on her bedroom, by the looks of things. She felt less guilty about killing him. Carmilla pushed her bed from the centre of the room, and pulled away laminate slats that had never been sealed into the floor. Underneath: her gear. She pulled out the collapsible carbon fibre crossbow; a length of strong, heavy wire wrapped in a dense coil; the kit full of the sort of tools she’d need for an infiltration job. Those jobs were the hardest, and she tended to avoid them when she could, because if there was one thing Carmilla tended to despise, it was unnecessary effort. She fetched everything out and dumped it on the floor next to her. Underneath all that, though, was something unexpected. 

A polaroid picture, dusty and faded, the timestamp from fifteen years ago or so. Carmilla recognized herself with a shock. She’d thought she’d destroyed everything from her youth. The Carmilla of the turn of the millennium was still small - almost puny. She was outside, in a man’s shirt and baggy jeans, and her second foster father was next to her. A bear of a man, he made her look even tinier. Carmilla remembered him well. He’d wanted to adopt her. His wife had not been so generous. She’d returned to state care maybe six months after this photo had been taken. So Carmilla looked at herself. Thin in the face, a little sulky, but the edges of a smile playing at the corners of her lips and in dark eyes. A familiar expression. A prickle went down her spine.

Carmilla stood abruptly and picked up her gear from the floor. She left the apartment without looking back. 

Laura was just turning onto her street when Carmilla jogged onto the sidewalk. She jumped into the passenger seat. 

“You’re late,” Laura said with forced calm, “I got nervous.”

“Sorry,” she replied curtly. She didn’t elaborate, and the two followed signs east towards the other side of the river.

There was a pause. “What did you get?” Laura asked, changing the unspoken subject.

Carmilla patted the bag on her knee. “A lot of pretty specialized stuff that I paid a lot of money for a few years ago. We’re going to climb the building on the south side of VPI, on Marienstrasse. Then I’m going to fire a sticking bolt with zipwire attached to it to a pretty precise spot right above the fourth-floor window of the Albrechtturm. I’ll need to wire over and break the glass. Then I guess we’ll work the rest out.” 

Laura nodded. “You know I’m coming with you, right?” 

“I know,” she said neutrally, “I wouldn’t know what to look for without you.” 

“Good.”

They made good progress towards the business sector, and Laura stopped the car at the back of the printing offices that Carmilla had earmarked as climbable.

Carmilla glanced down at the creased photograph still clutched in her hand. She didn’t know why she’d brought it. 

“What’s that?” Laura had, of course, noticed. 

Carmilla chucked it onto the dashboard. “Nothing.” It should have stayed under the floorboards.

Laura glanced at her, and hesitated before she picked it up. Carmilla rifled through her bag.

“You haven’t changed much,” she said eventually. “Who’s the man?”

“Foster parent,” she grunted. Eventually, she pulled out what she’d been looking for - a tight, protective black jacket and gloves. She stripped to her tank and pulled it on over the top. 

“Do I need something like that?” Laura asked, tearing her eyes from the photo. She looked troubled. 

“I’m going to be the only one smashing glass,” Carmilla replied, slipping the thick gloves on. “Take my biking jacket. And the gloves, to cover any prints.”

They sorted themselves out in silence.

“Last chance,” Carmilla tried. “You could stay here, find somewhere safe - wait for me.”

“Not a chance, Karnstein,” she said determinedly. “I started this. I’m going to finish it.” 

She nodded, and they both got out of the car, maybe for the last time. Carmilla slung all their gear on her back.  

There was a fire escape out back, as Carmilla had predicted. Halfway up, the staircase ended, and the ladder to the roof was sealed off with a heavy padlock on the grate above their heads. Carmilla moved close, and pulled out her picks. “Cover me,” she murmured, and set to work. 

The lock was old, and stiff, and she had to stretch to reach it. She felt Laura’s impatience almost boil over more than once - but with a click, the tumblers fell into place and she discarded the metal padlock. It hit the iron lattice beneath them with a clang, and the trap swung open. 

“Ladies first,” Laura muttered, and Carmilla rolled her eyes, but set off. Fortunately, the top wasn’t similarly sealed, and she clambered out onto the roof of the building. The Albrechtturm was directly opposite them, intimidating in its size, with the 3 letters of VPI dominating its upper third. Carmilla turned, and offered a hand up to Laura, who took it. 

“Okay,” she murmured, standing close to Carmilla, “so what now?”

“Watch and learn,” Carmilla replied, dropping one of her two heavy backpacks and pulling out the slender carbon fibre crossbow. This piece had cost her more than she’d cared to admit a few years back. She couldn’t help but be glad she’d be getting her money’s worth out of it. Under Laura’s watchful eye she peeled off the top cover of a flat-headed suction bolt, and attached it deftly to a long line of steel cable. The other end of the cable, she wrapped fairly loosely around the air conditioning unit that they’d come up next to. She’d have to adjust it and put the pulley on once she got purchase anyway. 

Carmilla took aim down the crossbow scope. The length of wire she’d attached made it a little heavy, but manageable. Her night vision had adjusted well, and she could pick out the line of concrete right above the window opposite, slightly below their level, and not particularly far. She could make a shot like this in her sleep.

She steadied her breathing and, in the gap between one breath and the next, squeezed the trigger.

The bolt flew - impacted - held. Laura let out a breath next to her. 

“I need your help with this,” Carmilla said, folding up the crossbow and dumping it back in her bag, “we have to make our zipline now.”

That took them a few minutes. But, eventually, she’d got up on Laura’s shoulders to attach the small metal pulley and wrap the line tightly around a secure steel pipe running from the air con unit just above their heads. She clipped herself on, and paused. “This might be a personal question, sweetheart, but how much do you weigh?”

“Why?” she asked curiously, hands still wrapped around Carmilla’s thighs on her shoulders.

“Because I only have the equipment for a solo trip. If you want in, we’re gonna have to go over together.”

“What’s the weight allowance?” 

Carmilla checked the figures on the side of the pulley. “130 kilos.”

“We’ll be fine, surely.”

“With equipment?”

Laura tried to shrug and Carmilla hastily grabbed the top of her head to avoid losing her balance. “It’s not far. I hope you’ve tied your knot tightly enough.”

Carmilla didn’t rise to the bait; she just checked her fastening. “Think so, cutie.” She jumped down; the cable attaching her to the line pulled her closer to the edge of the building. “You’re pretty strong. Do you think you’ll be able to hold onto me all the way over, and then while I smash the window, or should I secure you? It’s a pretty long way down.” 

Laura paled slightly as she took their backpacks. Point made, Carmilla thought to herself. “Um. Secure me, please.” 

She used two steel carabiners to clip Laura’s front to the back of her belt - a bit of a stopgap measure, but none of this was particularly standard for either a hitman or a journalist, after all. Laura looped her arms around Carmilla’s neck, and then hopped up to wrap strong legs around her waist. 

“Ready?” Carmilla breathed. Laura nodded. Carmilla inhaled once, twice; she tugged on the cable above her, and it didn’t give; the preparations were complete.

Her toes curled around the edge of the building. She steeled herself, and stepped off into air.

The cable snapped taut; a whoosh of adrenaline and speed; Laura’s limbs tight around her; but the dark chilly glass was almost on her and Carmilla braced her legs for impact. “Hold on!” she managed, and her feet smacked into the window with some force. Laura gasped, loud in her ear, but held on. They stopped, suspended in the sky 60ft high. “Don’t look down,” Carmilla advised. She fished into the pockets of the utility belt around her hips, underneath Laura’s weight, and unrolled a circular sheet of sticky-backed plastic. Past her was apparently pretty well prepared for having to do something like this, Carmilla couldn’t help but think. “How are you doing, Laura?” she asked loudly, over the whipping of the wind.

“Okay,” Laura responded faintly, but she had Carmilla’s chest in a bit of a death grip. “How much longer are we up here for?”

“Just hold tight,” she said, struggling to apply the plastic sheet onto the glass. They were going to come through pretty high up, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. When it was flat and secured, she had to acquire Laura’s help again. 

“You are the worst.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she said helplessly. Laura gingerly let go of her with one arm, clinging for grim death with the other, and fished around in the bag on her shoulder for the nightstick Carmilla had asked for. She thrust it at her, and almost lost her grip in the process. Carmilla’s heart jumped into her mouth. “Alright?” 

“Can you just hurry this up?” 

“Cover your eyes, if you can.” Laura buried her face in Carmilla’s hair. “Typical,” she sighed, before kicking back, and building her momentum to snap the side-handled baton into the section of adhered glass with all her might.

With an underwhelming crack, it gave. Carmilla finished the job by swinging, feet first, into the weakened, fragmented glass.

_ There  _ was the crash. They barrelled through, and Carmilla unclasped her carabiner, falling messily through the hole she’d created. Laura landed heavily on top of her, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs.

“Carm? You okay?”

“ _ Ach _ ,” she managed, unable to move. 

Laura remembered the clips on her belt. “Oh! Sorry!” She extricated herself from Carmilla, all fumbling fingers, and rolled off her to her knees. 

Carmilla straightened herself out, took a breath. The adrenaline was starting to kick in, and she felt herself smile. “It’s alright, buttercup. Next time, I’ll be on top.” she winked at Laura, whose jaw fell open rather comically, and breezed out of the empty, dark office cubicle into which they’d made their entrance. 

She’d predicted very little security on this level: the administrative centre of a children’s charity. She was right. No trace of cameras; all the doors were openable; no telltale ticking of an activated silent alarm in the deserted lobby. She felt pretty bad about the smashed window though.

Laura caught up to her as she approached the service stairs, in the western corner. This door  _ was  _ locked. And not just that, there was a fire alarm linked up to it. Carmilla took out a set of wirecutters from her belt. She took one of the heavy backpacks from Laura, and found a small, dense hammer in the side pocket. Then, she got to work. 

She hammered away the plaster around the alarmbox towards the door until she found the trail of three wires which, when triggered by the door, would set off the warning - and bring half the fire brigade down here too, most likely.

Red, green, brown. She couldn’t remember for the life of her which one was safe to cut. “Any idea?” she asked Laura, who shook her head.

Carmilla sighed. “Sod it,” she muttered, and cut all three as close to the box as she could.

“Carm _ illa _ -!” 

Nothing happened. The building remained silent, empty. They were still ghosts.

“Hmm. That was lucky,” she shrugged, and Laura let out a huff. 

“Jerk.”

Without warning, Carmilla took a step back and kicked open the fire door. The noise was deafening in the heavy silence, and Laura almost fell over. 

When she had sufficiently recovered, and Carmilla gestured for her to go ahead through the poor ruined door, she gave her a glare. “You are having entirely too much fun with this right now.”

Carmilla smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Laura rolled her eyes, and made her way up the dark, cool staircase. 

Past the tenth floor, Carmilla decided to ask the question. “Do you know where we’re actually going, Laura?”

“I mean,” Laura said above her, “I don’t  _ not  _ know where we’re going.The higher up we go, the more likely we’re going to find this stuff, right?”

Carmilla stifled a sigh. “Remind me what  _ stuff  _ we’re looking for again.”

“That missing board meeting. Number 74. That’s the key. Also, anything at all linking Luce’s actions to the top dogs. Vordenberg. His friend Van Zwanenberg. We get that, I can put the story together.”

Around floor 17, Carmilla froze. Her sensitive hearing picked up the familiar, whiny buzz of a CCTV camera, somewhere above them. “ _ Laura _ !” she hissed.

Thankfully, Laura heard her and stopped. Carmilla motioned her back down. There were only 25 floors in the building. This would have to do.

She tried the door on their landing. Locked again. Carmilla fished out a flashlight and studied it. She couldn’t get to the fire alarm on this side. “Shit,” she breathed. She really hadn’t thought this through.

Carefully, she headed up a level, one step at a time. The buzz of the camera grew, but she couldn’t see it on the eighteenth floor. This door - wasn’t locked. Her nerves prickled.

She motioned Laura up, and pulled out her Glock. Laura saw the look on her face, and mirrored her actions with her Taurus. 

But floor 18 seemed deserted, too. They left the small conference room, and found themselves in a maze of open-plan, randomly organised office spaces. Carmilla checked their direction. She turned right, hopefully towards the central lifts and some idea of a plan for the building. Laura followed close behind her. 

They made it, with no sign of anyone else in the entire building. There was a reception area next to the lifts, complete with sad potted plants and straight-backed chairs. Laura read the sign behind the reception: “ _ FLOOR 18 - HR _ ”. Then, she inched forwards to the directories left abandoned on the desk. Carmilla kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, because something just wasn’t right here. 

In the half-darkness, Laura knocked over a half-full glass of water left at reception as she leafed frantically through the files. “Crap,” she muttered. Carmilla stared at the glass. Why was it here so late?

“Here!” Carmilla jumped, and went to see what Laura had found. Tucked under the phone was a laminated paper of extensions.

 

_ CEO’s Office (floor 25) 001 _

_ Legal Affairs (floor 24) 981 _

_ PR/Environmental Department (floor 23) 435 _

_ R&D: Chemical/Synthesis (floor 22) 097 _

_ R&D: Biological (floor 21) 098 _

_ Finance (floor 20, 19) 922 _

 

“Which floor?” she murmured. Laura’s lips moved for a second.

“It’s got to be the CEO’s office. Nowhere else is gonna sign off from Vordenberg himself.”

“We don’t do things by half, do we,” Carmilla muttered. She headed over to the lifts, and grabbed her nightstick from her beltloop. Laura watched curiously as she uncapped the blunt end, and used a concealed taper beneath to prize open the lift doors. Then, she flashed her torch into the shaft. It looked like the lift itself was above them, at the top floor. Made things a little more complicated. There was no service ladder, either.

“Done much climbing in your life?” she asked Laura quietly.

“Um. Wasn’t bad on trees, when I was a kid.”

In her bag, she found the rest of the wire length, and tied it swiftly around the elevator console. Then she clipped herself up, and, a little further down, she clipped Laura up. “You’ll pull me off if you fall. So please shout if you’re going to.”

“I thought we were going stealthy,” Laura breathed, as Carmilla’s fingers worked the knot at her waist.

“Stealth’s no good if you’re dead,” she pointed out. Laura touched her hand.

Now wasn’t the time. Carmilla turned back to the elevator shaft. “Do exactly what I do,” she said. She turned, and swung herself up onto the exposed steel girder above their heads. 

Working her way up with Laura was a laborious process. Carmilla had kept the length of wire between them short, to keep her as safe as possible, but it made things even more difficult on the climb up. Laura may have been in terrific shape for a journalist, but this was something else. She hadn’t even thought about what she was going to do when she reached the underside of the lift yet. 

She was in the corner, away from the doors, giving herself maximum aid on the climb. They were on perhaps the 22nd floor - halfway. She wedged her foot in the sloping, X-shaped steel frame on this section, and sprang up, immediately finding purchase on the next horizontal bar. 3-touch rule; that was always the way to go. Pulling herself up and onto the narrow space, though, she heard a strangled cry from below her.

“Carm-!”

She braced herself just in time, and the cable connecting them tugged sharply taut, almost dragging her from the bar. Carmilla was using all of her strength to stay on her base, but that seemed less important than the weight hanging from her belt. “Laura!” she cried, peering over the edge as much as she could. It was too dark. She fumbled to pull the cable. 

“I’m okay. I mean, I’m sorta crapping myself-”

The echoey sound of her voice, admittedly strained, sent a powerful wave of relief through Carmilla. “I’ve got you. You need to swing towards the side, alright? Use your momentum, and catch on.”

Laura fell silent, and Carmilla felt the sway of the rope under her free hand. She was losing the feeling in her other elbow, hooked tightly around one of the powerful lift cables, and bearing most of their combined weight.

There was a grunt from below. The line slackened slightly. Laura had caught the side. 

“Well done, sweetheart,” she said quickly, “just work your way up to me. Take your time.”

Laura inched closer. Carmilla’s heart was in her mouth. She could hear the scuffling of Laura’s trainers on the walls, the pipes; her breathing was getting louder. Laura’s hand appeared over the edge of her girder. Carmilla grabbed it, and used all of her strength to pull her up onto the slender bar next to her. “Jesus,” she breathed, wrapping her free arm around Laura’s heaving frame, “don’t scare me like that again.”

Laura held tightly to her for a second. “I’m not planning on it,” she mumbled into her hair. She let go after their heart rates had returned to something approaching normal. “We have to go on,” Laura said. 

Carmilla nodded. “Tell me if I’m going too fast, okay?”

Carefully, she set off upwards again. Her strained arm was throbbing. The underside of the elevator was growing larger in her sights. As she’d hoped, there was a service hatch on the bottom of it - with easy access, in case of emergencies. She pulled Laura up immediately below the elevator. 

“You’re not going to like this,” she said. Then, she unclipped her carabiner from Laura and swung out onto the underside of the lift, using its metalwork like monkey bars. Laura let out a gasp.

Carmilla, though, was focussed on the strain in the rounded muscle of her shoulders, the next bar to take. She came up to the service hatch, and wrapped her good arm tightly around the bar she was on, and fumbled at the catch with her other hand. Her limbs were starting to shake from the exertion. She was out of shape.

Her hands were sweating in her gloves, but the catch clicked, and the hatch fell open. Carmilla sighed in relief. “Can you get out here like I did?” she asked Laura, flattened against the side of the lift shaft.

Laura took a look, and shook her head. Carmilla let out a noise of frustration. They were so close. Laura grabbed the cable hanging from her waist. “Catch this,” she said, her voice echoing over to her, “if you tie me on, I can try.”

They didn’t really have another option. Carmilla grabbed at the cable when Laura flicked it over to her, and clipped it up to her belt. She wrapped the slack around her hand. Her core was starting to ache.

Laura stepped out, and dragged herself up onto the bars. Carefully, she advanced, letting the cable take some of her weight. Carmilla, however, was feeling the strain, and as Laura inched agonizingly closer, her muscles were screaming. She pulled herself through the hatch, but couldn’t relax. She braced her feet against the elevator wall, and began, torturously, to pull Laura up and onto the floor after her.

Laura flopped in. Carmilla collapsed, chest heaving for breath. 

“You,” she said eventually when she sat up, “owe me big time.”

Laura straightened up next to her, face flushed. With a smile, she leaned in, and kissed the end of Carmilla’s nose. “I think I’ll be able to make it up to you,” she murmured, and Carmilla closed her eyes.

“Whatever, Hollis,” she murmured, and Laura’s lips brushed hers. This was the most bizarre break in she’d ever been a part of, there was no denying that. 

She stretched out her limbs, before standing and bringing out her nightstick to get them back out of the lifts without alerting anyone on the other side. Carmilla’s suspicions came back tenfold. The lift wouldn’t be on the top floor if it was the main way of leaving the building, surely.

With the low groan of protesting hydraulics, both sets of doors slid open a crack. They squeezed out, onto the top floor of VPI headquarters. Carmilla kept the nightstick in her hand. 

The opulence of Hans-Albrecht Vordenberg’s personal office was immediately obvious, even through gloomy, unlit halls. They made their way past a lobby area full of clean lines and red trim, and the corridor beyond opened up into a spacious, grand office with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of the capital city below them. Vienna sparkled yellow; the Danube shimmered white in the short summer night. Carmilla was surprised out of her mission mode; she allowed herself to wander over and take in the romance of it all. Hers was a beautiful city.

Laura touched her shoulder lightly, before turning to the immense desk at the centre of the room. She slid open one of the drawers. “Flashlight?” 

Carmilla left the view, and went to shine a light on the papers Laura had begun to rifle through. 

“I don’t know where to look,” she confessed after a few minutes of heedless searching. Carmilla found a familiar pad of monogrammed paper on the desktop, and flicked through it. 

“No sign here,” she said softly. “We just have to keep looking.” She gave Laura her torch, and pulled out the little mobile phone she’d bought in London. With its light, she began to work through the second drawer. 

Invoices; letters; invitations; congratulations. It wasn’t looking good. 

“Board meeting 74,” Laura muttered to herself as she slammed that drawer shut and moved to the one below, “October 2010. Moved February 2016.” 

Carmilla gave up on her drawer, and moved to the one below. It was locked. “Shit,” she cursed, looking hastily around for a key. Most people kept these sorts of keys in their offices, to prevent losing access to their documents. She hoped Vordenberg was the same. 

She ran her fingers along the underside of the wood. It wasn’t dusty. Her nails scraped over a patch of stickiness - tack? She shone her phone. The imprint of a key there was unmistakeable. The patch of unease between her shoulderblades pulsed.

There was a click. The office was flooded with light. Carmilla grabbed Laura and pulled her behind the desk.

Footsteps.

“I know you’re there.” A male voice, familiar. “Get out from behind the desk, or I’ll send a few bullets through it to check.”

Laura tugged on Carmilla’s arm.  _ Luce _ , she mouthed. Carmilla nodded. She stood, and pulled Laura up behind her.

William Luce was stood halfway to the desk. He was holding a large Sig Sauer pistol in his hand, and pointed it lazily at Carmilla’s head.

“Not bad,” he drawled. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that you would get this far, Laura Hollis. But then, picking up a trained guard dog on your side does no harm, I suppose.” Carmilla clenched her fist around her baton.

“You know what we’re looking for, Luce,” Laura piped up behind her, “just hand them over. We can all walk away from this safe. Haven’t enough people died to protect this company?”

“And what exactly are you expecting me to hand over?” Luce asked smoothly. 

“Board meeting 74,” she said loudly, “when the board consciously decided to cover up the fact that its operations were poisoning people. Schwaiger and Mentchen - they resigned a few months after that meeting, didn’t they? Schwaiger committed suicide three years ago.”

He nodded evenly. “You’ve certainly done your research. I do have the documents you’re looking for. But you’re not getting them. If you surrender to me, now, the police will be called, and you’ll be arrested for breaking and entering. Some environmentalist hippie stunt, no doubt. We’ll be very gracious about it; a few months and you’re out, everybody’s happy. I’ll destroy these documents and this unfortunate business can blow over.”

Carmilla didn’t believe that for a second. They were packing enough gear to be accused of espionage, even terrorism. There was no doubt in her mind that Luce knew that. “That’s not a particularly favourable offer for us,” she said evenly, “what will you do if we refuse?” She tensed up, planning a strategy.

“The guard dog speaks!” Luce exclaimed. Then, his face hardened. “If you refuse, I’ll have to shoot two dangerous intruders in my great uncle’s office. Even if you do survive, it won’t be a few months in prison you’ll be looking at. We can put you away for years.”

“We?” Laura said sharply. “So you  _ do  _ have the police on your side.” 

“Your type is always talking about  _ sides _ ,” he waved his hand dismissively, “law enforcement is law enforcement. They have their price, like everyone else. Including your metal man over here. Or shall I say woman?” He looked directly at Carmilla with dark, hard eyes, and she felt a shudder of something uncomfortable crawl over her skin. “€80000 didn’t quite cut it, did it? What would, I wonder? If you turn around and deal with her now, we can make you an offer, Carmilla Karnstein. One hundred thousand? One hundred-fifty? Name your price.” 

He’d misjudged her. She wasn’t that person. She felt Laura behind her - she’d never been that person. She reached back, and touched Laura’s waist. “Not at any price, you creep. If you want her, you’re coming through me.”

“So money doesn’t cut it for you any more,” he said softly. “The contract killer found a conscience. How about something else, then. We can offer you safety. Luxury. To work with us - you never have to be on the wrong side of the law again. You never have to be alone again. You don’t even have to kill. You have potential, Carmilla. You don’t even know who you are to us.”

She’d heard enough. Luce could be waiting on any number of backup options while he stalled them here. 

“You belong-”

“Down!” Carmilla pushed at Laura with one hand; the other threw the baton, hard, directly into Luce’s face.

The gun discharged, but he’d been caught off guard and his aim was poor. She vaulted the desk and rushed him, getting into his space and jabbing a boxer’s punch into his chin. His head rocked back, but his own hands came up into a guard, and the nightstick almost tripped her as she dodged a heavy male fist. He saw her moment of ill-balance, and went to strike her ribs, but she got the block in, and followed it up with her knee in his side. 

She was intensely aware of the gun in his right hand. He went to smack the butt into her head, and she blocked that too; her hands found purchase for the armlock, but he’d already predicted that and her stomach lurched violently as he swept her legs out from under her and landed heavily on top of her, pressing the cold tip of the gun barrel into her temple. 

She was reminded of Laura on top of her in her home, gun in her hand. It hadn’t been like this at all. “I don’t want to kill you, Carmilla,” he snarled, his face twisted with anger, “but I will hurt you.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” she managed to reply around his hand, pressing on her windpipe. “You can’t imagine what it’s like. You’ve condemned so many people to death without ever taking the responsibilities of that on for yourself. You’re a goddamned coward, and a puppet to your family, you waste of a life.”

He let out the most unexpected, humourless bark of laughter. “What would you know about family? Yours is right in -” Carmilla swung up with all her might taking him by surprise and dislodging his grip, and cracked her forehead into his nose. She grabbed his wrist in hers, twisted it savagely, but a gunshot cracked again, agonizingly close to her, shocking the thoughts out of her head. 

She couldn’t have escaped it this time. She’d thought it would hurt more.

William Luce’s eyes went wide; he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was a spurt of blood instead, that dribbled from between his lips, and he slumped forwards onto her, a lead weight on her stomach. She scrabbled away from under him, hands running over her sides. She was unharmed. 

Carmilla looked up. Laura was stood over her, the silver Taurus pistol still in her hands, eyes fixed on the hole she’d left square in Luce’s back. Carmilla stared at her, her brain unable to comprehend what Laura had just done for her.  

But her training kicked in. She kicked the Sig Sauer away from Luce’s twitching hands and enveloped Laura in her arms, trying to bring her in from wherever her mind had taken her. “Thank you,” she said, as calmly as she could, over her racing heart, “you just saved my life, Laura.” 

Laura clung to her tightly. Then, she pulled away. “We need the documents,” she said firmly, but her eyes were still wide and wandering. 

Carmilla nodded. After a thought, she took the gun from Laura’s unresisting hands. “You won’t need this again, I promise,” she said softly. After one kill, she remembered, some of the rookies could get unsettled. The same thing was happening to Laura. As quickly as possible, she patted Luce down.

Wallet. Car keys. Gum, cologne. The props and tools of a rich boy. The final breaths were leaving him under her hands. She felt nothing for him. In the breast pocket, she found the delicate silver key. She could tell immediately that it matched the lock on the drawer; the imprint left in the blu-tack under Vordenberg’s desk. For the first time, she wondered just how much the old man knew about his legacy.

Laura stood silent behind her. Carmilla grabbed her hand and led her back to the desk. She bent down, unlocked the drawer, slid it open. 

A thin manila folder. Unmarked. Almost empty. With shaking hands, Carmilla slid the few pieces of paper out of it, onto the desk. “Look, Laura. Have we found it?”

Laura’s lip trembled. “I - I don’t-”

“Focus, darling,” she breathed against Laura’s hair. “I know you’re in shock. But the sooner we know we’ve got it, the sooner we can get out of here and deal with it, alright?” She took Laura’s other hand and used it to spread out the documents, tried to bring her back to earth. “You know this best. This is your case. Have we got it? Have you won?”

Laura’s hand trembled under hers. “Board meeting - 74,” she read out carefully, her voice almost steady. “October 2010. Response to concerns made by J Schwaiger, supported by F Mentchen, regarding dangerous pollution levels in the central European zones.” She read quickly, silently after that, and with sudden drive she flicked over, to the next sheet. “Report - ENVP, from Director W Luce, September 2015. Highly confidential.” Her voice became more animated. The next page: “PR Department - the upsides of chemical reactivity and what it means for the local area.” She looked up at Carmilla then, her eyes so much more like the Laura she knew. “We have them, Carmilla. We have - everything.”

She couldn’t place what she was feeling at that moment, except she knew she wanted to hold Laura and never let go. Instead, she broke the eye contact to pack the files back into their folder, and shoved them into her rucksack. “Come on then. Time to get out of here.”

Their cover was more or less blown, one way or another. Carmilla could have sworn she heard sirens, as she dragged Laura past the lifeless heap of William Luce, bleeding out on his great uncle’s floor, and sprinted with her out into the lift. She hammered on the down button, and in the stillness, took the opportunity to pull Laura into her arms again.

Laura leaned into her, and she stroked her hair. “You’re alright, Laura. You did exactly the right thing up there,” she murmured, but inside, she wasn’t so sure. She could have overpowered Luce. Could have taken him to trial, revealed him for all he was. 

_ You don’t know who you are _ , he’d said, with contempt, with derision. Had he known something that she didn’t? Or was it a ruse, a cruel trick to throw her off, hit her mentally? Laura had taken the shot. Carmilla, she thought a little bitterly, would never know.

The lift halted at the ground floor with a  _ ding _ . Carmilla intertwined her fingers with Laura’s and strode out across the lobby. The sirens were definitely louder now. She smashed the emergency exit button next to the great glass doors, and they slid open with the blaring sound of more alarms. “Stay with me,” she said, as she began to jog, out of the building and immediately as far away as she could get them. Carmilla didn’t pay attention to the street names, to the direction she was taking. She used her hearing to keep them away from the sounds of commotion behind them; she used her eyes to keep them out of the view of CCTV or helicopters buzzing above the Albrechtturm. Carmilla chanced a glance behind. The lights were still blazing out of the penthouse windows. She wondered if they’d found the body yet. 

Laura was beginning to tire behind her, and she slowed to a walk. She crossed the street, into a narrow back alley, no doubt used for delivery trucks and service entrances. They were a fair distance now from the tower, from the scene of their crimes. Laura hesitated, coming to a stop halfway down the alleyway. Carmilla looked back to her. “Where do we go now?” 

She seemed surprised by the question. Then, she sat herself down on concrete steps leading into one of the dark silent buildings on their right. “I don’t know. I need to find some internet, compile everything we’ve got. Produce a basically finished article. Break the story - hide whatever just happened in  _ there _ …” Laura pulled Carmilla’s biking gloves off her hands and wiped frustratedly at her face. Carmilla wasn’t sure how to respond. She sat down next to her, and gingerly put an arm around her. Laura just stared into space.

“It’s easy, isn’t it,” she said distantly, kicking at the loose gravel under her trainers, “to just - kill someone, I mean.”

“What did you expect, sweetheart?” she asked.

“I thought - you know. There’d be some great big force of, like, good, stopping me from pulling that trigger. Because if you killed, that’s who you were. And if you didn’t, it was because you were something different. Does that make sense?”

Carmilla thought about it. “You thought that I was in some way fundamentally different to you? Because I’d killed people?”

“No! I didn’t mean-” Laura tried to reformulate her thoughts. “Look. There’s a noun, that exists, okay? Killer. Or, murderer, or whatever. A person, you understand. And you are it, or you aren’t it. And I never had to think about it, because I was never it. I mean, I guess my parents were it, and their friends were it. And,” she hesitated, “you were it, too. But I could kind of - put it out of my mind. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Until you saw me kill Theo in Berlin,” she said softly. 

“Yes! And then, just, my head was all over the place, because I had these feelings for you, but you’d done something that to me was always just so morally repugnant, but you’d done it to save me, and I just tried to ignore it, and then I only felt it stronger, which made me confused, and now I guess I’ve - just exactly the same thing that I always thought I never would. I don’t know what it means. I don’t feel guilty. But I do. Because-”

“Because you’re changing,” Carmilla interjected softly, but her heart was beating fast, and she felt like she was focussing on entirely the wrong part of the conversation. “Laura - you’ve never had to challenge society before. I mean, you have. But always in a way that was victimless. With those sex traffickers in the States. You’ve always been able to have the moral high ground, convince yourself that you don’t live in a violent world - that you’ve, i don’t know, risen above it, or something. But it doesn’t always work out like that, okay? I know that. Your parents knew that, for sure. What we’ve found here - it’s worth it. Even if you had to do it in ways that you never thought you’d have to resort to. Think of how many people Will Luce killed with his covering up. You can’t tell me that all these people on their files would be better off if no one stopped him.”

Laura was silent. She reached out, and took Carmilla’s hand. “I’m sorry. I did - think you were somehow different from me, I guess.”

“To separate intention from action, and action from identity,” Carmilla brooded. A philosophical quandary. Are we defined by the actions they take? Or by the intentions with which we took those actions? Would she be judged on the impression she’d made on the world - or by where she’d wanted that impression to take it next? It was a riddle she’d never solved. 

She shook the thoughts from her head, and finally said the words hanging in the air above her head. “So you have feelings for me, huh.”

Laura flushed. “It’s probably just - you know - the adrenaline. And the intensity of our joint experiences. Have you seen  _ Speed _ ? That’s what Sandra Bullock says to Keanu Reeves when-”

Carmilla cut her off with a kiss. She wasn’t sure of many things right now. This, at least, was something that she could hold on to. “Shame,” she mumbled against her lips, “I was really thinking that all this kissing was going to work eventually.”

Laura smiled slightly against her mouth. The peal of sirens, suddenly close by, made them both jump. Carmilla pulled away. “We’ll have to continue this somewhere else,  _ Schatz _ .” She pulled Laura up, and, hands joined, they made their way down the dark, narrow street. But as they neared the end, and wider, freer junctions, the sound of a car engine, altogether too close for comfort, sent a shiver of warning down Carmilla’s spine. She slowed. A car door slammed. Laura squeezed her hand. She wanted to go for the gun, but it could be anyone, a civilian, and -

“There you are, Carmilla, darling. You’ve led me on quite a merry chase, haven’t you?”

Her breath was snatched away. Dark business suit - high heels - red lips. 

Lilita Morgan.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chap to go. thank you to all my fans xoxo
> 
> come find me at viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com and i'll try not to leave this particular cliff hanging for too long


	10. White Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair's crimes catch up with them - along with the true nature of Carmilla's past. Will they ever be able to escape the long shadow their investigation has cast? Or - does violence simply breed violence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly so sorry about this wait. i took exams and moved countries...again. also dealing with the transition to long-distance in my personal life. 
> 
> final chapter up, so i hope you're all sitting comfortably children.
> 
> chap title isn't from a song this time i love to keep you all on your toes

Lilita Morgan, impeccable and incongruous in the dirty, dark alley, gave a sniff which cut sharply through the ringing in her head. “You look tired.”

Carmilla opened her mouth, but no sound came out. 

“Carmilla?” Laura was tugging on her hand. It was all she could feel.

“Oh! And this must be little Laura Hollis. I’ve heard so much about you, my dear,” Lilita sounded anything but affectionate, “you’ve been quite the thorn in our side, if I’ll be honest. If it hadn’t done so much harm to my business, I’d rather admire your spirit.”

“What do you want, Lilita?” Carmilla ground out.

“What do you think I want,  _ Mircalla _ ?” Lilita shot a sharp look at her. “You’ve killed my employees, reneged on a contract I trusted you to complete, and made an entire mockery of my operations. What you’ve cost me, girl, is a whole lot more than a few hundred thousand euro. This is an empire you’ve destroyed, and for what?” Her gaze raked contemptuously over Laura next to her. “A pretty face?”

Carmilla squirmed, helpless, childlike. She hated what Lilita Morgan could do to her - her, a veteran, an agent, a killer. “It was the right thing to do. People are dying because of that firm.”

“Yes, quite possibly,” she shrugged an elegant shoulder. “That is the nature of our system of global capitalism. It is wealth, and capital, and the individual pursuit thereof which is the most important principle of our society. That is a fact which neither you nor your newest little toy can change. Do you think you can change the world with this? Bring back the millions lost to the grinding gears of globalisation, of profit?”

“Honestly?” snapped Laura, “Yes! We’ve won. This data will be released. People will be protected, and this senseless killing will stop!” 

Lilita didn’t even look at her. “Perhaps. It’s a shame, though, that you didn’t consider working with Vordenberg Petrochemical, Carmilla. Hans-Albrecht is not an unreasonable man, and times have changed. I’m sure he would have found a compromise - especially for you.”

Will Luce swam into her mind’s eye. Once again, Carmilla felt terribly wrong footed. “What are you talking about?”

Lilita gave her a strange look. “I thought you were intelligent. Surely you must have looked it up? I thought that was why you were so hell bent on some kind of revenge against the family - that you were never part of.”

Carmilla’s head started to hurt. “What do you mean?” she said, but it sounded less like a question and more like a snarl.

Lilita smiled, fully, openly. It was an eerie expression. “Oh, well this is just priceless. You understand what you’ve done, my dear? William Luce is lying lifeless on that office floor, my contacts are telling me, and you’ve shot your own half-brother dead.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the chin. Stars bloomed before her eyes, and Carmilla felt unsteady on her feet. She made some noise, and Laura tried to say something, but she was lost in the memories her own head was dredging up.

She was 8, and the social worker was telling her that her mother hadn’t wanted her. That she wasn’t dead; she wasn’t ill, or institutionalised; she’d been young, and pretty, and wealthy, and gone before Carmilla had been more than a day old.

She was 11, and her first foster mother was sniffing in disgust at her dirty, muddy clothes in the laundry. “You wouldn’t believe that she was meant to be from good stock, would you? That name of hers, practically royal, and she still acts like little more than a tramp…” 

She was 14, and she was in the school library at lunchtime, typing her surname laboriously into the search engines on new computers.  _ Karnstein _ . It produced a whole load of boring Wikipedia results, practically ancient history, until a headline in a Tyrolean newspaper jumped out at her:  _ Luce-Karnstein Marriage: Mayor’s son cements his pedigree. _ A picture: a slight woman with elegant features and dark hair; a thin faced, handsome man. She’d known this was her mother. Carmilla had closed the window, and skipped school for the next two days. Her mother had made a better family without her.

She was 16, and she decided to go into the army. She had no prospects, no attachments; no family. The scraps she had learned - she put out of her head. It didn’t matter anymore anyway.

Carmilla stared emptily in front of her. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t remembered the name, the article, the link. Hell, William had even looked like her. 

Lilita began to speak again, and she couldn’t help but listen to the smooth words. “You see, Hans-Albrecht had a much younger sister, and she married Leopold von Karnstein in the 50s or 60s, I believe. His family had been counts in the old Empire and they were still somewhat well-regarded. They had two children; a son who died quite young, and a daughter, Julia. She - well, she was your mother, Carmilla.”

“Why didn’t she keep me?” Carmilla asked numbly. She had so many questions. 

“Because she was unmarried and meant to be respectable, and this was Austria in the eighties. Very shortly after having you, your grandparents shoved her in the direction of Fernando Luce, the son of a German-speaking mayor in south Tyrol, and the marriage was tied up rather quickly. Your little half-brother, William, came maybe a year later.”

“My father?” she managed.

Lilita picked at her nails. “There’s not much information. A  _ Gastarbeiter _ , one would assume, from Greece or Yugoslavia. No one that you should be concerned with.”

“How the hell do you know all this?” Laura snapped. Her grip was a dull ache around Carmilla's wrist. 

“I do my research on my employees. Carmilla might have hidden well in her twenties, but before that?” Lilita gave a dismissive gesture. “She’s any other child of the system, and in this day and age, nothing escapes them.” 

Carmilla pulled her hand from Laura and wiped at her face. “I don’t believe you,” she said weakly. “You’ve made this up. This is some kind of revenge for what I’ve done.”

“Do you really think I would make up something so frankly implausible,  _ Mäuschen _ ? You know me better than that. Besides, why don’t you ask Nancy Drew over here what she thinks, because if I’m not mistaken, she’s known this from the start.”

Carmilla’s head shot up, and Laura had a terrible expression of contrition on her face. She tried to shake her head, tried to get her to deny it, but Laura wouldn’t, and Carmilla felt everything shift. She looked away from Laura, back to Lilita, who had finally told her the truth.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, and her voice had never sounded more pathetic.

“Because you have a stake in this, Carmilla, and it’s far more than you’ve ever dreamed of. Hans-Albrecht Vordenberg has never had any children; with William’s death you are his youngest living relative. Your mother signed away her interest in the business with her marriage. You will become the heir outright. If you take command of this now, you can become more than you’ve ever dreamed of.” Lilita’s eyes shone out of her ageless, graceful face. “Close this leak down. Step up as your mother’s daughter. Enter the firm, become its saviour in this terrible time. Wealth, Carmilla, but more than just that, because money is cheap and you can get it anywhere. I’m talking about prestige. Respect. A pedigree. Everything that you have the potential for, you can finally take with both hands, and claim as yours with pride.”

Carmilla’s head swam. She remembered the opium den they’d come across in Afghanistan, a cave of smoky illusions and hidden delights. “What would you get from this deal?”

“It’s quite simple, really. A partnership,” excitement tinged the older woman’s speech, “your continued goodwill, our continued support. You could conquer the Eurasian oil market in fifteen years with my help. I get the best business this side of the Atlantic - and you, Carmilla? You find your family.” Her voice had never been so soft.

Carmilla, trance like, began to walk towards her, slowly. Family. Something she’d never had, more than that: something from which she’d always been rejected. And here it was, in front of her, her family name vindicated, her nobility confirmed, her position - suddenly raised. Just by the knowledge of which blood flowed through her veins. 

“ _ Carmilla- _ ” Laura sounded hopeless, and broken, and very far away. Carmilla ignored her. She’d concealed this, after all. Lilita, for all her evil, all of her greed, all of her sadism, had not. She’d revealed Carmilla’s birth; the nature of her family; the people to whom she belonged, by right.

She stopped in front of Lilita, and offered her hand. Her thoughts were screaming, a clamour of voices, all overlapping each other, all cancelling each other out. Lilita smiled, took it, and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I knew you’d come back, my darling.”

“The thing is-” Carmilla felt the tears leak from her eyes, “The thing is, Lilita, I’ve never had much use for family.”

“I know, love, and -” She was cut off with a gasp, as Carmilla slid the knife from her sleeve and plunged it deep between Morgan’s ribs.

“They’ve always just let me down,” she said softly, as Lilita Morgan fell to her knees on the grimy, dirty road. 

The woman - the Dean, the  _ Kaiserin _ of the underground, the only woman Carmilla had ever truly feared - stared up wide eyed and betrayed at her protegee, and for the first time, Carmilla thought wistfully to herself, she looked old. Carmilla grabbed the knife protruding from her midsection, and pulled it out, with some difficulty. She’d angled it up, towards her heart. She wasn’t going to survive that. 

Lilita’s strength failed her, and she crumpled. Carmilla watched, and felt nothing. There had been too much tonight. She was barely even certain she was alive, that this feeling of weight was linked to the hands and feet and face that she knew as hers anymore.

“Carm?” Knife still in her hand, she turned to the source of the noise. Laura. Of course. Now, when everyone else, everything else was gone, Laura was here. She was still wearing Carmilla’s jacket. “Carmilla?” Her voice cracked, and that sound brought Carmilla back to earth. She looked terrified, and something pulled in Carmilla’s chest. She was still in her body. She was still herself.

She dropped the bloodied knife. “We have to get out of here.” Laura stared between her and the corpse on the ground, eyes wide. “Laura, come on!”

The name jerked her back into reality. Laura took her hand, cast a final, lost look around her, and they began to move quickly through the streets again, no longer caring who saw them, trying only to keep moving, to keep their bodies occupied, to get as far away as they could from the carnage that they’d left behind. 

-o-

Trains, again. 

Carmilla wondered how much she’d spent on rail fares in the last few weeks. Her bank balance probably didn’t want to know. She washed her hands in grey station toilets, scrubbing at the blood under her fingernails. Then, she looked up at her familiar reflection. 

Black hair and eyes, stark against pale skin. A nose too pointed and prominent to be attractive, she’d always thought. Sharp cheekbones. Thin lips. Dark circles under her eyes. And that wasn’t even mentioning the scars. The resemblance sprang out at her again: William Luce; her half-brother. Shot dead, by the girl waiting for her at the Starbucks outside.

Carmilla dried her hands and left the bathroom. 

Laura was slumped in front her laptop at one of the tables, a large steaming cup of coffee next to her. Her head jerked up when Carmilla joined her. Neither of them said anything. Laura went back to typing. 

Carmilla, chilled, went into her rucksack and rifled through it, looking for a jumper. She’d dumped the bloodstained jacket and gloves in a skip a few hundred meters away. Now that it was past two in the morning, far too late for any summer warmth or indeed for another train to arrive within the next hour, she was feeling goosebumps on her bare shoulders.

She tugged a turquoise sweatshirt over her head. It definitely didn’t belong to her, but Laura didn’t react, absorbed in her report. Carmilla shifted uncomfortably. She took a gulp of Laura’s coffee, but almost gagged at the unexpected sweetness. Laura was still silent. For a while, she just watched her, and tried to sort out the churning, swirling thoughts filling up her head. She smoked a cigarette, and another, and they all fell away to one loud voice. 

“You knew.” Carmilla said it, calmly, evenly.

Laura stopped typing entirely. But she stared at her screen for a second longer. “I suspected. Your surname had appeared in my research. Your resemblance to Luce was kind of… noticeable. But I had no proof.”

“Still,” Carmilla didn’t like the twisted feeling in her chest, “you basically knew. I mean it was hardly going to be a coincidence, with my surname.”

Laura rubbed her face. “Yes. I knew.”

Carmilla processed the admission for a second. She thought about the photo she’d let Laura see, crumpled and left behind on the dashboard of Kirsch’s car. “You killed my half-brother.”

She twitched. “It was him or you. I wanted you to live much more than him.” Then she fell into silence, her jaw working, and Carmilla recognised that expression.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would you have believed me? Carmilla, we’ve known each other - what, two weeks? It sounds completely mad! It’s one of the weirdest coincidences I’ve ever come across in my life, that you popped up on this  _ precise  _ case.” She fiddled with the edge of her screen, dropped her eyes again. “And at first, I wasn’t even sure it was a coincidence.”

She remembered how Laura had hidden the message from Nazneen Ramanujan in Berlin; that strange look on her face at the discovery of Carmilla’s surname. The intensity with which she’d asked after Carmilla’s knowledge of William Luce. “You didn’t trust me.”

“No. I thought you must have been sent by them. I was panicking in Berlin, when you told me your name. It didn’t make sense. And then - you fought off Theo. Killed him. If you were a double agent, you were either absolutely terrible,” she snorted slightly, “or completely brilliant. I chanced my arm, and decided that I was safer with you, than on my own, right then.”

“Have you ever trusted me completely?” Carmilla asked, and immediately regretted it, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But it would be infinitely worse to ignore this. To believe that something could exist that had no basis in reality.

Laura’s face twisted, and she went to answer indignantly, but Carmilla held her hand up. “Think about this, Laura. And answer it seriously, because I need to know the truth.” She felt sick.

The seconds went by, and the instinct to run only grew. 

“I didn’t know for the longest time whether I could trust you,” Laura confessed quietly. “After you dealt with Theo, I was confused. And I didn’t know how I felt about you; you’d turned up and turned my life upside down in days. But when we were in London, and I hurt your feelings, and you told me - you asked me if I thought what was between us was just business, and you were so - not just angry, but hurt - I knew that it didn’t matter what weird twist of fate it was that you turned up; I knew that you were real. That this is real,” she finished, barely audible, and neither of them, Carmilla suspected, really wanted to admit what Laura meant in the last sentence.

She couldn’t stop herself though. She kept pushing. “You still didn’t tell me.”

“How could I?” Laura’s eyes were wide and guileless. “It’s a pretty awkward conversation to have, don’t you think? And then in the car you were tired, and we... got distracted, then there was the whole border thing and -” she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just - a part of me just hoped it wouldn’t come up. You didn’t seem to be very curious about your family.”

“That wasn’t your call to make,” she muttered, but without venom. The exhaustion - bone deep, draining exhaustion - finally washed over her. 

“Look. I-” Laura sounded as tired as she felt, “I’m going to wait for one of the sleeper trains out of the country. There’s one to Warsaw at 3:30. From there, somewhere safe, I’m going to publish this story. After that - I don’t know. This was meant to be a holiday, but I think I’m gonna need another one.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “You don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want to. It’s over, like you said. You don’t, I don’t know, owe me anything, or anything like that.”

Somewhere, a siren went off. Carmilla stared at her. “You come into my life. You embarrass me. You wreck my career, and you force me to flee my home. You drag me to Berlin and have me kill someone I knew. Force me to meet your friends all over Europe, have me arrange a break in for you, then put me in a highly dangerous car chase. Bring me back here, have me break into a major corporation with you, reveal my tragic backstory and also get me to kill my mentor. And you’re worried I might think that  _ I _ owe  _ you  _ something?”  

Laura looked at her, offended, incredulous. “I didn’t  _ force  _ you to do any of that! And if you think any of it was about me, or for me -”

She caught Laura’s flailing hands in hers before she knocked over their coffees, and couldn’t help but smile at that animated, beautiful face. “It was, though. All about you. And if you think I’m just going to do all of that stuff for you and then just walk away, then you’re an idiot. If you think,” she intertwined her fingers with Laura’s, barely finding the words that she wanted to say, “I’m just going to let you leave me.”

No matter what she’d concealed, what she’d thought of her, the thought of Laura disappearing out of the ruins of her life right now was inconceivable. Laura just stared at her, seeming completely stunned by what Carmilla had just said, and she felt her defenses begin to rise again. “I mean, only if you don’t want me to go.”

Laura shook her head at that, still somewhat shellshocked, and found her voice. “I  _ definitely  _ don’t want you to go.” She smiled, shyly, and Carmilla felt a little of the heaviness in her chest lift. Laura leaned across, and hesitated for a second, before she pressed her lips to Carmilla’s, and Carmilla, finally, let her knotted muscles relax into her touch.

This was their first time, really. The first time something crazy wasn’t going on, the first time Carmilla wasn’t still running from her nightmares, needing to be touched; the first time she tasted Laura on her lips and could let that be all she was thinking about. So she savoured it. She made the kiss slow, and gentle, and tentative, and everything that she liked to pretend that she was not. That Laura had reawakened within her.

They broke apart when they were both smiling too much to kiss properly, and Laura self-consciously ran a hand through her hair. Carmilla just watched her. “I - Carmilla, I don’t know what’s going to happen after I’ve sent this. I don’t even know if we’ll get away with what just went down in VPI. I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing, and I guess I’ll have to go back to Canada eventually, and - I mean -” she struggled with her words for a second, “it’s not like I’ve got much of a plan right now.”

Carmilla laughed at that. “Have you been paying any attention over the last couple of weeks, sweetheart? I’m not what you’d call a planner.” She kissed her again. “Just - don’t keep things from me again, alright? And try to warn me before you kill my relatives.” Laura looked mortified, until Carmilla, smirking, seized her jaw and kissed her properly.

Eventually, they had to stop, not least because of the group of possibly intoxicated boys wolf-whistling at them from the Salzburg platform. Carmilla asked if she could beat them up, but Laura said no. Besides, their train to Poland should have arrived by now. Carmilla bought her own ticket and followed Laura into a small compartment whose only occupant was a gently snoring, middle-aged businessman. Laura plugged in her laptop and let Carmilla slump next to her, relief and exhaustion making her head swim. As the train, slowly, groaning, began to pull away into the night, Carmilla leaned her head against the window, and began to drift. But it wasn’t until Laura gently pulled her down, and let her head rest in her lap, that sleep finally found her. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in someone’s arms like this. Laura was warm, and soft, and Carmilla pressed her head into her stomach to shut out the glow of her laptop screen. She hoped her hand would never stop its gentle motions against her scalp, through her hair. Her sleep was deep and dreamless.

* * *

 

_ Three weeks later: St Petersburg, Russian Federation _

They looked beautiful together, Carmilla thought to herself. Even reflected in a lift’s dull mirrored wall, juddering up to the ninth floor. She seized on the moment to get her lips to soft skin. “Carmilla!” Laura wrapped her arms around Carmilla’s, which had made their way around her waist and sat dangerously low and possessive on her stomach. “Someone could see us!”

Carmilla paused her suckling on Laura’s neck, exposed in all its glory thanks to her elaborate updo. “But you’ve looked so sexy in that dress all night, sweetheart. You should be impressed I’ve lasted this long.” She scraped her teeth along the fluttering pulse point, and Laura twitched. Heat curled in Carmilla’s centre.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t decide to ravage me in the middle of the ballet. That would not have gone down particularly well.” Laura responded with forced calm. Carmilla grinned. Laura’s fingers curled against her own.

The lift came to a halt, and Carmilla let go of Laura, briefly, as the doors opened on their floor. No one was on the other side, and Laura took the opportunity to stride out and down the hotel corridor, fumbling in her clutch for their key. Carmilla’s eyes roved over her figure, perfectly highlighted in a short burgundy dress, and caught up to her as she got to their door. Her hand played with the hem of the dress, halfway down Laura’s strong thigh. “Carmilla,” Laura said again, trying to unlock the door even as she leaned back into her touch, “you are unbelievable. Can’t you wait five minutes for me to get this door open?”

“Nope,” Carmilla breathed into her ear, and soft sucked the lobe into her mouth, laving it with her tongue, “if I stop, you might try to top me again. And that isn’t happening tonight, cutie. God, I can’t wait to get this dress off you.”

Laura almost dropped the key. She was probably regretting revealing just how much this part of her body responded to Carmilla’s touch.

It was incredible - three weeks of Laura, and her, and them, and Carmilla still felt like every time she touched her was the very first time. It was electric. 

No one had come looking for them after the shooting of Will Luce made news across Europe; no one had issued an arrest warrant after Laura had emailed her article to both  _ Der Spiegel  _ and TIME magazine, and Hans-Albrecht Vordenberg had been taken into custody. Laura had stopped checking her email, and was only picking up the phone to call her dad, and in the meantime Carmilla was enjoying having her - entirely, completely, consumingly. They made each other insatiable.

Her hand found Laura’s breast and kneaded the soft, malleable flesh; Laura gasped. She loved Laura’s breasts. She loved every part of her body. 

She sucked another dark mark into Laura’s neck, and pulled back to look at it with satisfaction before Laura, finally, twisted the key and threw the door open. She stumbled in on her heels after her, fully intending to spin Laura around and have her up against the door, dress hitched up and above her hips in seconds, but Laura froze in her tracks, and Carmilla immediately knew something was wrong.

She tore her lips from Laura’s shoulder, and strode around to pull her between herself and the door. The reading light was on, casting a soft glow over a beautiful, dark skinned woman sat on their sofa, drinking sparkling water from the minibar. There was a handgun on the table in front of her, and Carmilla  _ felt  _ the sights of multiple guns rake across her body, unprotected by her tight, black dress.

“So you’ve finally decided to join us.” The woman stood up, tall and graceful, and her voice was like velvet. All of Carmilla’s arousal had disappeared, replaced once more by the tightness in her limbs.

“Laura. Get out of the room, and down into the lobby,” she ground out.

“No, Carmilla,” she snapped back, “I’m staying right here.” 

The dark woman flashed a smile. “Excellent. Why don’t both of you sit down?”

“Who the hell are you?” Carmilla thought about going for the knife strapped to her thigh, under her dress. 

But the intruder had already anticipated that. Dark eyes roamed over Carmilla’s body, and she sensed that this was not a woman to be trifled with. “I’m not going to harm you, Carmilla, Laura. I’m here to make you an offer. So let’s stop all of this,” she turned back to the sofa, “posturing, and talk like  _ grown-ups _ , shall we?” 

The bedroom door opened on their left, and a figure in full ghost cell gear emerged, combat rifle in hand. He received a sharp look from the woman, apparently his superior, and stood stock still against the door, watching them. 

Carmilla’s heart was in her mouth. There were more here, she could tell. She took Laura’s hand and led her over to the sofa, sitting down opposite the intruder. Laura sat close next to her.

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll allow me to introduce myself,” the woman extended a manicured, elegant hand, “my name is Matska Belmonde, and I’m acting director of the Mephisto programme.”

“Mephisto?” echoed Laura, shaking her hand gingerly.

“Covert ops,” Carmilla interjected, thinking fast, “that’s what you are. Which nation?”

Matska Belmonde leaned back, the picture of regality in her long camel coat. “How old-fashioned of you. We live in the age of globalisation,  _ Frau  _ Karnstein. Mephisto represents the joint interests of several European countries in the murky world of espionage and retrieval, including both of yours. We answer solely to the heads of state of these countries, and, when necessary, to our Nato benefactors. Your little  _ prizrak  _ project is, unfortunately, retired. A whim of the Viennese elite, with a short life and large footprint. Mephisto is the new cutting edge, and it’s people like you who keep our glorious European community safe from those barbaric forces that would wish to harm it.”

The main door opened behind them, and Laura turned her head to look back, but Carmilla focussed solely on the woman opposite her. She was on familiar ground now. She’d sat in a similar meeting six years ago or so, when she’d been invited onto the PZR program. But at least that time, she’d been invited.

“Sounds wonderful,” she said briefly, “but what does that have to do with us?”

“And what,” Matska’s eyes flashed, “you’re just two loved-up tourists enjoying the sights of Peter the Great’s ‘window to the West’, are you? Did you enjoy the opening of the ballet at the Mariinsky tonight?”

They’d been followed. Carmilla kept calm. “It was a beautiful occasion.”

“I’m pleased for you,” she replied, “but it doesn’t change the fact that a dangerous former agent of the Austrian Secret Service went rogue all over Europe, leaving a trail of bodies from Berlin to London and back again.” Laura stiffened next to her. “The turmoil around Vordenberg Petrochemical Industries in the last month has raised many questions. About the role of the state in private business; the trust one can afford to place in profit-making, environmentally disruptive ventures; the ability of President Putin’s Russia to manage a peaceful transition to democracy in the Belarusian Republic, currently in anarchy; and, of course, just how above the law Vordenberg thought he was.” Belmonde took a sip of her drink. “William Luce, shot dead in his office, perhaps by his own uncle. Lilita Morgan, one of the most powerful figures in European organised crime, stabbed to death on the same night in an alley not far away. The police are desperate to solve the crime, Carmilla; and you’ve left us with quite a mess to clean up.” 

“So what do you propose?” Carmilla asked cagily, sensing that the trap was soon to spring. 

“You come back in. You’re a wild card. It’s a wonder, quite frankly, that we let you go for quite so long.”

Carmilla squeezed Laura’s hand, needing the touch. “I’m pretty sure you thought that I was a PTSD-riddled, alcoholic, unmanageable shell after I was discharged.”

“Well, you seem to still be, hmm, alive and kicking, wouldn’t you agree?” Matska picked up the gun, and Carmilla tensed, ready to shield the girl next to her, but the other woman only slipped it away, beneath her coat. “Come back to us. We need people like you on the inside. Frankly, we’d rest easier at night for it.”

“And if she doesn’t want to go back?” Laura asked loudly, breaking her silence. There was a second’s dangerous pause.

Matska’s eyebrow arched in something approaching incredulity. “I’m not talking about what people  _ want _ , Miss Hollis. I’m telling you the facts. If Carmilla rejects her duty to serve once more, then we will be forced to consider her as hostile to our aims, and we will be forced to share what we know about your recent crime wave with the police in Vienna. After all, both of you know far too much about our operations to be able to continue unchecked as known hostiles to the community that we protect.”

“This is nonsense!” Laura snapped. “We were finding the truth! Carmilla’s done her duty, ten times over, right, Carmilla?”

Carmilla was silent. 

“Carm?”

She’d known that this dream with Laura was going to have to come to an end soon. She’d known as soon as she’d gotten back into the game. They were always going to come back for her, either as her allies, or her enemies. She’d much rather that they were her allies.

“What would be the terms of my service?” she asked, tiredly.

Belmonde smiled. “The usual. Full benefits. Housing. Pension. Training. A diplomatic passport and several new identities. We protect our assets better than ever now, you know. Four years is a long time in our world.”

“Don’t I know it,” she grumbled. “I’d be signing a secrets act?”

“Of course. As will Gidget, over here.” Laura was seething.

“And my communications with the outside world? Say, with Laura?”

“You don’t  _ die _ , Carmilla,” Belmonde said pointedly, “many of our agents continue to maintain relationships with family members during their service. But you will, effectively, be on tour for most of your time with us - that is, active service. Communication is not always possible.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “How long would I be with you?”

“Until you’re no longer suitable at the front line of your country’s defence,” she replied archly, “this isn’t a sabbatical.”

“Not going to work for me,” Carmilla said, thinking fast. “I want a fixed term, now.” So Laura could hear it. So there was a chance that this wouldn’t be over.  

Matska Belmonde clicked the person behind them over to her, apparently for a consultation. Carmilla turned to Laura, who was clearly having difficulties staying silent. She stroked the blonde strands away from her face, but Laura flinched away from her touch. “Why are you going?” she asked, anger and hurt leaking out of her voice.

“I don’t have a choice,  _ Liebling _ ,” she breathed. “It’s not possible to escape people like this. I used to be one of them.”

“And you’ll be one again,” Laura retorted, sitting back, out of Carmilla’s reach. She didn’t let go of her hand, though.

Belmonde cleared her throat. “You’re twenty-eight years old, Carmilla. We’re willing to offer you a fifteen-year period at the front lines; after which you’ll be expected to join the Austrian Ministry of Defence as an advisor. From then, you’ll be able to enjoy a civilian life.”

“Fifteen years?” Laura gasped. Carmilla’s heart sank.

“Too long. I’ve been abusing this body ever since I got out of the military, director.” The title was familiar in her mouth. “It won’t be in peak condition for that long.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Belmonde’s eyes flashed. “May I remind you that you aren’t in a position to bargain with us?”

“I’m an internationally renowned journalist,” Laura retorted before she could speak, “and I assure you, I could quite easily construct a story about what’s going down in this hotel room right now.”

“Laura…”

“Hard to do once you’ve disappeared, Miss Hollis,” Belmonde pointed out acidly. 

Laura smiled, sharp-toothed, and brought out her new iPhone from the clutch on her knees. An app was open on it. “Not when pretty much this entire conversation has been recorded and is sitting on the Darknet, waiting for me to release it with one button.” Her jaw was locked; her thumb hovered over the screen. 

Carmilla remembered just how formidable an opponent Laura could be.

The room was silent for a few moments, then Belmonde cracked an icy smile. “If I were authorized to offer both of you a contract right here and now, I would, believe me.” She paused for a second. “Very well. Carmilla, name your terms. I’ll see if they’re agreeable.”

Carmilla thought fast. “Three years. High-impact, whatever you want me to do. I’ll go anywhere. But I want full protection, salary, compensation payment at the end of it. And the right to holidays.”

The director tossed her head back, and laughed. “I hope you were trying to be amusing.” She glanced at Laura, still hovering with the phone in her hand, and grew serious. “Five. Plus any emergency situation in the following five years. Full protection. Salary and bonus. Generous pension, no compensation. No additional holidays. You must take whichever position is offered to you at the end of that period. And, should there be war in Europe in your working life, you can expect a call up.”

“Define emergency.”

“If there is no reasonable chance of anyone else being able to do the job we require.” Carmilla continued to hesitate. She had the feeling that this was the best offer that she was likely to receive.

“Plus,” Belmonde said slowly, sounding resigned, “we picked up a certain motorbike in Styria, near the border. Green Kawasaki ZX14-R, a 2012 model I believe. It’s an expensive vehicle, but no owner has claimed it thus far. We heard you might be interested.”

“Shut the front door,” Carmilla breathed, the expression of Laura’s falling off her lips. They had her bike.

Belmonde smirked. “That’s our final offer.”

She knew she had to take it. It was that, or prison, or worse for her - and possibly for Laura, too. She turned to the girl next to her. “I have to go, Laura.” Carmilla didn’t expect those words to be so hard to say.

Laura’s face was set and angry. She met Carmilla’s eyes. “It’s not fair.” 

“None of this has been fair, love,” she said softly, and it may have only been a month, but she meant it and wanted to say it, before they were torn apart again. “You know all of this - it’s real.”

Laura nodded stiffly and looked away. “That’s what makes it harder.”

Carmilla felt the tears building in the back of her throat. She looked back at Belmonde. “And Laura will be left alone?”

“Absolutely,” the woman said seriously, eyes darting between the two of them, “once she signs the secrets act I have for you both here, we will happily extract her from this,” she sniffed, “backwater, and take her wherever she desires to go. After that, our interest in her will end.”

She was starting to look impatient. 

“Then I accept the latest terms you’ve laid out,” she said simply, and offered Belmonde her hand. “Five years.”

Belmonde took it, and smiled; genuinely, this time. She wasn’t so terrifying when she did that. “Welcome to Mephisto, staff-sergeant Karnstein.” She reached into the briefcase at her feet, and pulled out several documents. “Your confidentiality agreement, here. And - she took the second and made quick alterations, signing them off with a flourish. Your contract. Miss Hollis - here is yours.”

“My gagging order,” Laura muttered, but she began to read through the document. Carmilla checked hers. Written in dense German, signed off by Matska Belmonde and someone else, someone foreign, with her five-year period highlighted in Matska’s spidery writing. She picked up the pen on the table, and signed under her name - Mircalla Karnstein.

It was done.

Laura looked at her one more time, and followed suit.

“Excellent.” The director collected the documents from them, businesslike and impersonal again, and her staff started to move out. There were four or five of them, Carmilla saw, along with her. She and Laura wouldn’t have made it out any other way. “Now, can you both pack up your things, please? As quickly as possible. We have a flight to catch.”

Laura went to the bedroom without another word, and Carmilla followed suit. But she’d barely entered when Laura turned around, pushed her up against the door, which slammed closed behind them, and beat her fists on her chest with all her useless, silent fury. Carmilla took it. She closed her eyes now, away from the strangers in the next room, and felt the tears run.

Laura’s fists fell still, and she balled them up in the front of Carmilla’s dress, and leaned into her. Carmilla stroked her hair. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, helpless and uncertain. 

“I can’t believe you - this - it’s completely screwed up,” Laura said tightly against her. 

Carmilla felt her tears on her neck. “What does this mean - for us?” she said softly. “Is there going to be an us?”

Laura sniffed, and pulled far enough away from her to meet her eyes. “I don’t know,” she replied, sounding empty, and Carmilla hated that she’d done that to her.

“Five years,” Carmilla said. “It’s a long time. But I - if you want me, when I’m out,” she hesitated, “I’m yours.”

“How can you say that?” Laura snapped. “How can you expect me to deal with this - with you, when I’ve only just had you, and now I’m losing you, like I feared, and it’s going to be five goddamn  _ years  _ before you can come back -”

She reached up, and dragged Carmilla’s mouth to hers, and kissed her desperately, rawly. Carmilla responded instantly, because she knew now that she loved her, with as much certainty as she knew that she was going to lose her.

Their tears mixed on their cheeks. Carmilla wished that she could freeze time, hold her forever. But Laura pulled away. “It’s a long time, Carmilla.” She sounded breathless, at least. “I can’t promise you anything.” She turned her back, began to gather her things.

Carmilla nodded. They packed up in silence.

If Matska Belmonde knew what had been going on behind that door when they reemerged, she gave no indication of it. There was a black Mercedes waiting for them on the Prospect, which took the three of them to a private airfield some way south east of the city. They boarded the plane there, which Belmonde told them was going to Vienna. None of them slept. Carmilla barely took her eyes off Laura the whole way. 

It was only now, faced with the prospect of saying goodbye, that she could see just how far the tenacious journalist had worked her way into her heart.

They touched down just under three hours later, and the night was growing cold. Summer was over. There were two cars waiting for them. “You’re in with me, Carmilla,” said Matska Belmonde, opening the passenger side door. “The other will take Miss Hollis wherever she’d like to go. I’d suggest the city airport, perhaps. Your father misses you.”

Laura - tired, angry, still in her dress from the ballet at the Mariinsky - snapped her head up to Belmonde, but didn’t reply. The woman got in the car. “Say your goodbyes quickly, if you will.” The door slammed shut.

Carmilla walked over to her. Laura half turned away. “I can’t do this, Carmilla. I can’t look at you and tell you goodbye like this.”

“I’m going anyway, whether you say it or not,” she said harshly, and winced at herself. She placed a hand on Laura’s shoulder, but she didn’t respond. “I love you.”

Laura turned sharply back to her. Carmilla stared down into her eyes, willing for Laura to see how she meant it. She had nothing to lose any more, after all.

Then, she smiled slightly, but her eyes remained sad. “Like Sandra Bullock and Keanu in  _ Speed _ ?”

“More than that,” Carmilla replied, “and I know it’s stupid, and selfish, and entirely the wrong timing, but you have to know.”

Laura softened, and wrapped her arms around her, and Carmilla clutched her close. “I can’t say it back yet, because I don’t know anything right now,” she mumbled, and Carmilla wasn’t angry.

“Will I be able to find you?” she said hesitantly into the top of Laura’s head.

Laura pulled away from her. “My dad. Major Sherman Hollis. Toronto, Canada. Find him; and you’ll find me,” she said.

Carmilla nodded. She remembered her phone, clutched in her hand, and waved it slightly. “Call me,” she joked feebly.

Laura smiled again. For a second, her hand came up and traced the lines of Carmilla’s face, raising goosebumps on the skin. Carmilla wanted to kiss her. But she knew it wasn’t fair.

There was nothing more to say. Carmilla let her go, but as she went to get into the idling car, she paused. “Carmilla!”

Carmilla turned so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

“Thank you - for everything. For making me see things differently.” She couldn’t find an answer; all the things that she wanted to say, had to say, tripped over themselves in her mouth and made her mute.

The car door slammed, and the driver immediately gunned the engine. She was gone.

Carmilla got into the remaining car, behind her new boss. “Finally!” Matska exclaimed. “You’re not shooting The Notebook, you know, Carmilla.”

She was silent.

“And you mustn’t get all melancholic on me; no doubt you’ll see her again,” she continued. “A woman like that, quite frankly, is unlikely to let a little thing like distance get in the way of what she wants. Or international espionage, for that matter.”

Belmonde, it seemed, had depth. Carmilla concealed her surprise. “You might be right,” she conceded. 

She closed her eyes. Laura’s lips ghosted over her lips, her chest, her stomach. Carmilla could see her, as vividly as if she were right in front of her again, in a hotel room - in Warsaw, Gdansk, Tallinn. Saint Petersburg. 

It wasn’t over between them. Not as long as they fought for it. And if Carmilla knew one thing in her life, it was how to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that wraps up this lil piece.
> 
> I have several plans for an epilogue floating around in my head so lmk if you'd be into that. 
> 
> to all of you who've given me a chance on this wild ride - thank you. I'm missing this show like crazy.
> 
> come find me at viele-kleine-leute.tumblr.com !


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